A Marriage of Circumstance
by Werepuppy Black
Summary: When the beautiful but innocent daughter of Count Dracula is coerced into choosing a matrimonial partner, she is devastated. Can woman as fiery and passionate as Mira be tamed? As a last resort, she turns to her ever faithful servant, the darkly dangerous and handsome Bertrand du Fortunesa. But can the Chosen One and half fang ever truly find happiness?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Based on chapter 13 of Quick Bites, I present a full story with a gender-swapped Vlad. With thanks to redrachxo for the summary, and to both her and Hope Coppice for encouragement to post

* * *

**A Marriage of Circumstance**  
**Chapter 1**

"That's the situation, Vlatka," the Count strode into the throne room relaxed and at ease. This attitude was a stark contrast to his youngest daughter's panicked looking face. He turned round, sitting himself grandly on his throne, and looking directly at Vladimira with a stern expression. "Either you find yourself a husband," he paused in his speech, and threw a dirty look at Eoin before adding, "a _suitable _husband, or they'll find one for you." There was another brief pause as he picked up his paper, and began to flick through it. "I believe Ramanga has offered one of his sons. Fine vampires."

"Dad," Mira stressed, "I don't want to get married!" She gave an irritated sounding noise. "Not yet at least, and certainly not for any ... political reason." She shook her head. "I mean, no offence, but our family hardly has the best track record with relationships anyway," she folded her arms over her chest, "so forgive me at not jumping at the idea of being forced into a marriage with someone I hardly know."

"As you would say, my dearest daughter," the Count said, not looking up from whatever article was demanding his attention, "talk to the cape, because the fangs aren't listening."

"I haven't said that in years," Mira muttered.

* * *

"What am I going to do, Bertrand?" Mira threw herself into the chair just inside the door of Bertrand's coffin room. "Dad says I don't have a choice in the matter, that I have to get married and that if I don't choose my own husband, he'll pick one for me." She gave a shudder at this. "Raculad was making _suggestions_ last time he visited," she explained, off Bertrand's questioning look at the shudder, "and Dad's wanted to have stronger links to that family for centuries.

Bertrand set aside the journal he was writing in, and turned to face the Chosen One. She currently looked like a young vampire child who had been told that there was no Father Slaymas. A horrible thing. "Well," he sighed, "the way I see it, you've only really the one choice." Mira looked up at him hopefully. Bertrand gave a shrug. "Find a suitable husband." Mira groaned loudly, and tossed her head backwards, hitting it off the moment with a small 'ow'. Bertrand didn't comment, but picked up another book, leafing through it. "Blood status is important, though of course, being who you are, it's better to get someone of lower status than yourself," he suggested.

"Right," Mira pushed herself back into a more proper seating position. She tucked hair beind her ear, and sighed. "I get it, find somone who has managed to last longer than a couple of decades if they're a half fang, or someone from a family who've lasted a couple of generations at least." She rolled her eyes, and lent forward. "Any other tips in that book of yours, like what the Council would consider 'suitable'?" She paused, and worried her bottom lip. "Though I've got my suspicions."

"Loyalty is highly sought," Bertrand said. "Someone who was unquestioningly loyal to you would be a good move, it would prevent any High Council members being able to use them against you," Mira nodded, to show she understood the logic behind his words. "But at the same time, you'd need them to be loyal to the Council, so they have no cause for complaint." Mira nodded again. "That would go for their Clan as well," Bertrand added, looking down at the book. "Family can often sway loyalties, so you'll want someone who has a family either sworn to you, or no family to sway them."

"So," Mira shrugged. "Again, we're looking for a half fang." Bertrand gave a half shrug, accompanied by a nod. Mira gave an irritated sigh. "Well, that's great, because I know so many of them," the sarcasm in her voice would have been noticeable even by Renfield. "Well, there's ... and ... ," she smirked. "Such a whole host of names." Bertrand waited patiently for her rant to end, and she gave another sigh. "Go on then, what else would my husband need to be?"

"Preferably someone capable of defending you, through wisdom, knowledge, or strength." He looked up from the book to see Mira glowering at him, and realised very quickly the mistake his words had implied. "I'm not suggesting for a second that you are not more than capable of taking care of yourself," he assured her, "but you have," he paused, and rushed the next words, "too good of a heart. If your husband was weak, you'd defend him, and it would be better for you to be in a position where defending others will not put yourself at risk."

Mira's stance relaxed slightly, as she slouched back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling of the coffin room. "Well, this isn't going to be a hard thing to do at all," she let out, rolling her eyes once again. "Honestly, it's not like I'm expecting much, just an unquestionably loyal, able to defend himself, ridiculously intelligent possible half fang." She gave an incredulous laugh. "I only know one person who even comes near that description and he's..."

She sat up at the thought hit her, and glanced over at Bertrand. The look on his face told her clearly he had come to the same conclusion she had. There was only one person they knew of who fit the description, and he had just realised it himself.

"Oh... bat bog breath." Mira pushed herself up out of the chair quickly. "Bertrand, _no_," she said, "I can't ask you to do that!" She began pacing what little floor space there was available in the room. "Besides which, it's entirely too risky and just," she looked over at him, that sinking feeling of this possibly being the only working plan available to her growing in the pit of her stomach. "I just, I can't ask you to. No." She paused. "Even if it is the only ... no."

In comparison with Mira's flailing, Bertrand was remaining visibly calm. "I suspect," he began, before shaking his head, clearly changing his mind on the words. "I am, of course, at your service should you need anything of me," he settled on, bowing his head respectfully. Mira chewed on her bottom ip, glancing nervously over at Bertrand, her face hinting just slightly at the whirling, conflicting thoughts going through her mind at that moment.

"I don't want to force you into anything," she said finally, her voice sounding strong. Then there was a crack: "but it might be the only way."

Bertrand nodded. "I fear it might be." He gave a shrug. "Unless, that is, you can think of another plan." Mira sat again, looking as thoughtful as possible. Eventually, she shrugged, shaking her head in an admittance of defeat that Bertrand had rarely seen from her.

"The only idea I've got right now," she admitted, "is trying to pass Eoin off as a half fang." She paused, and gave another shrug. "But too many people already know about the truth for that to have any chance of working at all." Her face fell, ad she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly vulnerable at the realization she didn't have much option for escape when it came to this particular arrangement her Father and the Council had decided upon. Maybe that's why they chose it.

"Are you serious?" Bertrand asked. "About this course of action?" Mira nodded. Bertrand gave his own nod. "Then we may as well do this properly." He got down on one knee. "Vladimira Dracula, will you marry me?" Mira took a deep, unnecessary breath.

"I will."

* * *

Announcing the engagement to the Count could have gone far better. "We've always ... had feelings for each other," she said to the Count, looking up at Bertrand to confirm her explanation. "But he was always insisting that it wasn't proper, that he was my tutor and, well, it wouldn't be right," that bit sounded plausible enough, and she saw the Count's own nod telling her that he had bought that bit of the explanation. "But when he heard that I was to find a groom..."

"I couldn't stand back and watch her be married someone else without having said anything," Bertrand contributed. The Count narrowed his eyes in his direction, and Bertrand bowed his head respectfully. "Please," Bertrand asked, "allow me to marry Vladimira." The Cound continued to look, a slow evil smirk appearing on his face. All things considered, Mira should have expected the Count to decide that Bertrand had to face all that ordeals. The box of Transylvanian Sunlight was bad enough – Mira felt her skin blistering from it – but ordeal by feather somehow seemed ten times more ridiculous in this situation than it had when he used it on Robin when Ingrid had him pretending to be her boyfriend.

Unsurprisingly, Bertrand passed all the ordeals. "Well, then," the Count said, swishing his cape around him in order to look far more impressive in the moment. "I suppose you can ... _steal_ my Vlatka away from my care," he growled at the last. Of course, it was all show, because he clapped his hands and gave a joyful laugh. "I must tell Ramanga," he clapped Bertrand on the shoulder. "A son in law who won't try to stake me in my sleep!"

"Of course," Bertrand gave another respectful nod, managing to smile back at the man when he beamed in his direction. It wasn't so bad, he supposed. He could grit his fangs and bear it. He had faced far worse in his 400 years of life, being forced to marry would probably be one of the less awful. He hoped. "The Council must be informed," he stepped back to let the Count by. The Count clapped his shoulder once more, and moved off, laughing cheerfully.

"That was easier than I thought," Mira said after a moment. She glanced up at Bertrand. "Looks like Dad's got a new favourite," she commented with forced lightness. Bertrand gave a laugh, equally as forced, and Mira let out a breath that she didn't realise she had been holding. "Now," she said, "I just need to work out how to tell," the door behind them slammed, and Mira whirled round, finding herself looking into a furious and familiar looking face. "Eoin," she finished.

"What's this I hear about you two getting married?" Eoin spat out the words, looking between Bertrand and Mira with sheer fury on his face. Bertrand looked at Eoin, then glanced down at Mira.

"I'll let you explain the plan," he said, leaving the room very quickly. Mira grabbed his sleeve before he could zoom off however, giving a very stern look which informed him that no, he was not getting out of helping with explaining the situation that easily. "I take it the Count told you?" Bertrand asked, glancing at Eoin with little regard for the boy. He couldn't care less about him, he'd be quite happy to forever ignore him.

"Couldn't help but gloat loudly," Eoin said. He looked past Bertrand at Mira. "Ingrid heard him, you know." Mira stood a little straighter, not letting an effect of this statement being heard of her. "I heard her say how much planning she's got to do, and she zoomed off," Eoin continued. Mira did wince then. Great, Ingrid planning things. She'd be at the best lingerie shop within a 20 mile radius by the end of the week, if her sister got her way. Which she would.

"She always does like her plans," she managed. "Eoin, it was either find my own groom or get one found for me," she reached out her hand to take his. But Eoin snatched it away from her.

"So it had to be _him_?"

"I was the best out of bad choices," Bertrand replied evenly. There was a pause, as the two glared at each other. "Better the vampire she knows," Bertrand's ability to keep his voice even in stress was one Mira had always admired, and now was no exception, "than a power hungry psycho she doesn't."

"Even if the vampire she knows is one?" Eoin shot back. Bertrand growled.

"I am loyal to the Chosen One." Eoin snorted.

"For how long this time?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far! I hope I continue to write well enough for people to enjoy the story!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"And then Eoin said 'for how long this time', and Bertrand glared and snarled and then stormed from the room and it's just becoming a total disaster," Mira threw herself on to the top of her coffin, groaning loudly as she did so. She pushed herself up into a more proper sitting position, and turned her glance to the couch in her room. "Well, come on then," she said to her elder sister, "brag or gloat or whatever it is that you want to do."

"Gloating at my little sister's misery," Ingrid's tone was filled with shock at being accused in such a manner. She smirked widely. "I was going to anyway, but it's nice of you to give me permission, really," she stood, and patted Mira on the shoulder in a patronising manner. Then she shrugged. "When it comes down to it, I think you've actually shown some intelligence for once in your pathetic existence," Ingrid said. "Getting around the marriage by linking yourself to your most loyal servant, who wouldn't have dared say no in the first place." Mira opened her mouth to protest, but Ingrid continued, not really paying attention to her sister. "You're just lucky, really," she added in an off-hand manner, "Bertrand's actually fairly attractive, so it won't be so much of a chore to have to pretend like you notice that." She glanced at her sister, and dropped her voice to a mutter. "Him, on the other hand, he'll need to work at it."

"I didn't ..." Mira stopped, looking down. Ingrid was right. Bertrand wouldn't have dared gone against her. Had she roped him into this without giving a moment's thought as to how he would actually feel about the whole thing? He would tell her that he was fine with the situation, but wasn't that just because that he was loyal to her, first and foremost? Mira worried her bottom lip, deciding instead to focus on the latter of what Ingrid had said; if only because it was less headache inducing. Also far easier to take offence at. "I could do worse!" She said, glaring at Ingrid.

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Have you actually looked at your boyfriend recently?" she commented. "You are doing worse." Mira shook her head, and Ingrid smirked once more, chuckling lightly. "Speaking of, sounds like your darling breather boy isn't taking this too well," Ingrid made a gesture with her hands as if to say 'what do you expect?' "That'll be the jealousy," she commented, "I would have hoped he'd hide it a little better than what he's doing..."

"What jealousy?" Mira asked. "Eoin knows we're only doing this because it's this or be married to one of the Council's sons," both girls gave a small shudder at this – being auctioned off to the highest bidder had not been a feature in either's life plans. "He's got no reason to be jealous."

"Oh yes he has," Ingrid said. "Taller than him, older than him, better looking than him-"

"Bertrand?" Mira's confusion was clear in her tone, as well as on her face. Really, Ingrid mused, she should warn Mira against frowning, it would age her horribly. "Why would he have reason to be jealous of Bertrand?"

"You really are naive," Ingrid commented. She sighed, and smoothed her skirts. She was wearing a fine deep blood-red dress, speckled with ornate black designs through the skirt. Mira had reason to be jealous; her sister always did manage to pull off the most amazing outfits that would have just looked ridiculous on Mira herself. "Eoin is jealous because suddenly his girlfriend is running off and getting married to the one person in this house he could consider competition." Mira stared, still not understanding. "Breather boy knows he's not the long haul choice, Mira, and he's aware that you're going to be wooed from all corners of the vampire world," Ingrid sounded so casual about it, that Mira couldn't help but nod in agreement. "Add to that long held suspicions he's had about your dorky tutor having some weird kind of feelings or crush on you, and well, you get incredibly jealous breather, ready to drink." With a smirk, she added, "the jealousy makes the blood spicier."

"You're not biting him," the statement was automatic, that Mira wasn't even aware of just how often she had said it since Eoin's breather and slayer status had been found out. She sighed. "As for what you said. Well. That's just... that's ridiculous," She insisted. "Eoin knows I love him for who he is," her voice sounded so sure of the words that she was saying, Ingrid almost felt a little sorry for her naive little sister. "He knows I'm not actually in love with Bertrand."

"Do you think he's attractive?" asked Ingrid out of the blue. Mira stopped what she was saying, her mouth opening and closing for a few moments before she sighed, shrugging as she gave her answer

"Well, yes, obviously." At Ingrid's look of triumph, Mira groaned, and shook her head. "He's _obviously_ attractive, Ingrid, I'm not going to lie about that." One of Ingrid's eyebrow rose delicately and pointedly, and Mira promptly ignore the implication behind the action. Her sister, she decided, was just trying to get a rise out of her and she would not give into it. No matter how tempting it was to slap that annoyingly irritatingly smug look from her face. "It just so happens that I'm just not attracted to him," she said, as though that there the final word on the matter.

"Whatever you say." Ingrid decided, her tone of voice clearly telling Mira that not matter what she said, Ingrid had her own beliefs on the matter and it was unlikely that she would be able to change any of them any time soon. Mira watched as her sister stood, straightening out her skirts and putting on a very business like manner.. "Right, well I'd better go and contact Mum."

"Mum?" Mira asked, finding herself once more lost by the conversation they were having. Ingrid tutted.

"She is the Mother of the Bride, Mira." Mira swore she could hear the capital letters attached to the phrase, then wondered if perhaps she shouldn't have read all of Robin's Discworld collection back in Stokely, as it had clearly left an impression. "She should know that you're getting married. That is, unless," there was a deliberate paused as Ingrid turned to look at Mira, "you want Dad planning everything?" Another silence fell as Mira shuddered at the images that fluttered through her head. Ingrid gave another triumphant smirk. "Thought not. Oh well, plans to make, things to do, and so little time."

"So little time," Mira muttered to herself. And it was getting shorter by the second

* * *

To say that Eoin was not a happy camper would be to put it far too lightly, and giving far too much credit for his understanding of the entire situation. He was furious about the ways events were spinning out of control for Mira, and furious that she had to get married whether she wanted to or not. He was not, it must be noted, furious at her, but rather at how her 'totally brilliant' plan was to marry her – in his opinion - skeevy tutor, who spent far too much time with her in the first place.

Okay, so that was perhaps being slightly unfair on him. After all, it was not as though he didn't see the logic in Mira's plan. By marrying her tutor she was at least keeping herself safe from any unknown vampire, she knew what she could expect from Bertrand and in that aspect, Eoin understood completely. It was just that the man was a complete and utter traitor, hadn't she learnt anything from the incident with Seithus? The problem with Mira, as much as he loved her, was that was she too easily forgiving. Bertrand had come to her with some big explanation about ow he was so sorry, and would do anything to prove his loyalty once more, and she had fallen for it.

(It must be noted that he was, with great convenience, forgetting that fact that he had both lied and betrayed Mira himself. When a person is ranting, a perfect memory is unforgivable)

Still, Mira was completely convinced that this was the best course of action for her to take. Eoin, regardless of his own personal distaste towards the plan, would do everything he could to support her in it. He would be the very picture of a loving, supportive boyfriend. With any luck, Mira would find a way out of any marriage altogether before the actual ceremony was due to take place, and then everything would return to how it was meant to be. Him and Mira being an awesome couple, and Bertrand just being the guy in the background. It would be perfect.

(Seriously, he really didn't like that guy)

With this decided, Eoin went to find his girlfriend. He saw Ingrid coming out of her room, and waiting in the corridor a few moments for her to pass by. It wasn't that they didn't get on, but Ingrid would gloat about how this would be far more perfect than Mira-and-Eoin as a couple and he could really do without that. He knocked on the door, before pushing it open. "Hey, Mira," he smiled softly. Mira looked up, and smiled back at him. "Listen, I wanted to apologise about earlier. I was out of order and-"

"I should have spoken to you before going to Dad," Mira said. "I just," she paused, and shrugged. "I don't know, Eoin, when we realised what our plan was going to be, it was like a plaster – the quicker we got it over with, the better off we'd be." She gave a sigh, and began to poke the top of her coffin with a finger, sad and clearly distracted. "I never meant to make you so angry about it, and now Ingrid's saying that the anger is because you're jealous of Bertrand and you've got no reason-"

"I'm not jealous of Bertrand," Eoin cut in, sounding irritated at the very suggestion of it. He sighed andd moved to sit on the couch opposite her. "Yeah, I don't like that's he's getting too marry you, but that's because it seems," he shrugged, "I don't know, kind of creepy to me. He is over 400 after all." Mira gave a blank look. Eoin inwardly sighed again. Of course, 400 was no age at all for a vampire. "Plus, I don't like that you have to get married at all," he added, seeing a small smile creep across Mira's face at this. "It's really unfair, and well, you're the Chosen One, can't you just tell them you're not doing it and they'd have to listen to you?"

"The High Council are already finding it extremely hard to accept that the Chosen One is female," Mira said. "Now, with my 18th only months away, and what with Ingrid trying to get a seat on the Council... Anything and everything we do is going to be held up to intense scrutiny." She didn't sound happy about this at all, and that was stating it lightly. "I can't risk them pulling their support of the peace treaty if I don't get married," she said to Eoin, who gave a small nod. "We've all got to make sacrifices for the things we think are important. I guess, this is just the beginnings of the ones I'll need to make," the explanation didn't really help matters. Eoin gave a half shrug.

"It's still ridiculously unfair to you," he consoled her. "Having to marry Bertrand, of all people."

"Oh Bertrand's not so bad," Mira said. "At least I know I'm safer with him, you hear some horror stories about some girls who find their new husbands are a bit," she paused, then shrugged, "I'm glad Bertrand's able to help me."

"Just so long as that's all it is," Eoin smirked, moving so that he was now kneeling in front of the coffin, a warm hand rubbing against her cold cheek. She really was beautiful in this type of half light that she keep her room in, Eoin thought to himself. Like some work of art that people kept overlooking but that made it all the better because then he could keep it to himself, all secret. Out loud, he said: "You know I love you, right?"

Mira smiled softly. "I know," she responded. "But thanks for reminding me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Magda's response to Ingrid's notice about the wedding came very promptly, with an additional notice that she would do all the planning darlings, just leave it to your own dear Mother. Understandable, Mira had grabbed Bertrand, pulled him to the training room, and began planning their wedding. Well, not exactly planning, Bertrand noted, more attempting to plan but mostly spending the time ranting about her mother and how she'll surely ruin the whole thing. Surprisingly, for what was supposed to be a sham of wedding, Mira was fixated on her mother not getting her own way in the planning of it. "What about flowers?" she asked him, looking up from the notebook she was using for plans.

"Flowers?" Bertrand repeatedly, obviously buying for time. Flowers was not exactly an area in which he could claim vast amounts of knowledge such as he could with many other topics of discussion. Deciding it would be better to admit his lack of knowledge in this particular case, he frowned over at Mira. "What about flowers?" What did flowers have to do with anything anyway? Mira sighed, and flick forward some pages in her notebook – smaller than her 'secret' one, but decidedly thicker in its width.

"For the ceremony," Mira explained as calmly as she could, though Bertrand could hear the beginnings of irritation in her tone. "Dad was saying we should have Nightshade to appease Ramanga and his family, but the further they're kept from involvement in this, the happier I'll be," there was a slight hint to viciousness in her tone that had Bertrand smirking a little to hear. She had certainly taken some of his lessons on board, it would appear. "So," she breathed out, calming slightly as she did so, "flowers. Are there any in particular you'd like or … do I have to give this one over to Mum?" Now dread entered her tone, and Bertrand frowned to hear it.

"Lilies," he found himself saying before he had even put any proper thought into the matter. "They were a symbol of my family," he added an an explanation. It would at least explain the speed of his answer should anyone choose to question him on it. "Not as a button-hole, obviously, that should be your clan's flower," Bertrand said as if it were the most obvious of all the facts. "And only if you want them, its entirely your decision, after all." There was just one thing that Bertrand was sure of in this whole matter; that regardless of the circumstances behind it, at least one of pair of them should be able to have a nice day.

"I like lilies," was Mira's only comment on the matter. She noted something down in her notebook, underlining it. "I'll have a lily bouquet " she said out loud, "tied with a red ribbon." Bertrand nodded; glad to see Mira such attention to the colours of her own clan. It would be seen favorably by members of the Council who would not doubt be invited to the – his mind hesitated over the word just slightly – ceremony. "And a blue ribbon." He frowned.

"Why a blue ribbon?" Bertrand asked her, his own confusion apparent in his tone, something that was an incredibly rare occurrence Mira looked up, and stared at him for a moment, before giving a simple shrug of her shoulders. Her answer came so simply, that people would have forgiven Bertrand his temporary thought that perhaps he had just hallucinated the whole event. Events since the proposal had been a bit hard to believe even by most vampires standards, after all.

"It's your clan colour, isn't it?"

* * *

Oblivious to the planning of both Vladimira and Bertrand, the Count was having to try and make his own plans about the whole affair with Ramanga who, it would be fair to say, was less than cooperative about the whole situation. Needless to say, it was becoming slightly problematic. "The Chosen One thinks she can reject _my _son," he snarled, "and that we will come along happily to her ceremony to the … the _servant_?" There was a deeper growl in his tone now. "He's not even from any prominent clan, or notable blood-line! He's a _half-fang_, for blood's sake!"

"He is?" said the Count. Off Ramanga's look, he continued. "I mean, he is," he countered quickly, "but he is over 400." There was a suitable pause as both took in the truth of this statement. That was a good age for a half-fang to get to, truth be told. "I think he's more than proven himself capable of belonging to one of the older vampire clans." Ramanga gave a noise that the Count assumed was one of acceptance. Really, the other vampire had to lighten up. Only 550 years of age, and already he was acting like he was long past 1,000 and long in the fang.

"And that just so happens to be yours?" Ramanga questioned. "An unquestioningly loyal son-in-law who'd raise neither fang nor stake against you," his lip curled slightly, "and no other ties to sway him away from the party lie." Ramanga picked up the bottle of blood on the table and poured himself a goblet to relax himself. "Oh yes," he said, "yes, Count Dracula, I see the appeal of this match entirely. It benefits you." The glare from the prominent member of the Council would have quailed a lesser vampire. But Count Dracula was anything but a lesser vampire.

"It _benefits_ Vlatka," he used the affectionate name without thinking much about it. This was good, however, it showed him as a stern father, but protective of the Chosen One, and those who would act against her. "Having her most loyal servant become her affectionate eternal husband?" There was a glint in his eye. "She would never have to worry about power diggers looking to have her sink her fangs into them." The silence from Ramanga drew a smirk from the Count. He had suspected as much. "Are you telling me the Council won't approve?"

"No," Ramanga admitted begrudgingly "As you said, there is logic in the match," he raised the goblet, drinking from it. "And it would be of best benefit to the Chosen One to have someone who can be counted on for her protection." That the Chosen One might not need protection was not even a consideration among them. "And of course," Ramanga added, "once the Chosen One finally has a husband, it is he who can be her emissary to the Council." He raised the goblet respectfully in the Count's direction. "While you remain as Regent, of course."

The Count, having filled his own goblet, mimicked the actions of Ramanga. "Of course," he said. "And, with any luck, her husband will be able to convince her against these … ridiculous plans for peace," the Count snarled towards the end of the sentence. He was finding the treaty a bit hard going, and kept trying to get his daughter to insert clauses that would allow for loopholes. Like willing donation Surely if a breather offered their neck, refusing it would just be rude. Vladimira was not for being swayed. "Bertrand is a very old fashioned vampire," the Count said at large, "when it comes to his eating habits. I'm sure he'll be able to instruct Vlatka to a better diet."

The men gave dark laughs, each sipping at their respective goblets of blood. More blood was pour and consumed, and as they grew steadily more blood-drunk, the fate of their Chosen was hammered out. Vampires couldn't be expected to listen to a _girl_, after all.

* * *

"Mira?" Bertrand's voice was carefully, cautious and wary as he spoke. "The thought has occurred," he spoke slowly, allowing it to be clear that he was carefully choosing his words before he said them. "That your Mother might," he hesitated before the rest came out in a rush. "Your Mother will be expecting to see us as a 'proper couple'." He swallowed dryly, lifting his kendo stick from its resting place and allowing the reassuring weight of it in his hands to calm his nerves before he continued to speak. "I was hoping you would have planned for this eventuality." Mira's face paled. "Ah," said Bertrand.

"I never thought of that!" Mira covered her face with her hands, groaning loudly. "And you know my Mother, she's an expert at deception!" She lowered her hands down again, and began to bend the edges of the pages in her notebook as she was consumed by her now panicking thoughts. "She'll know what we're doing instantly, and she'll tell my Dad!" Her eyes widened, as another thought struck her. "Or worse, she'll use it to blackmail her way into Regent again or get me to sign over all my powers to her or-"

"Mira!" Bertrand clicked his fingers in front of her face, distracting her very effectively from her ranting. "Calm, we'll think of a plan," he soothed. Mira took several deep unnecessary breaths to aid in calming herself down, before nodding to show she was in agreement. "The most obvious answer is likely to be the best solution," he said, still speaking slowly as he was dimly aware that this would serve as a good test of the lessons he had given Mira.

"You mean, just act like a couple?" Mira sounded wary. Bertrand gave a slight shrug.

"It couldn't be too hard, could it?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Magda, despite having actually replied unusually promptly to the letter from Ingrid, had given no sort of hint as to when they could actually expect her to arrive. This did cause some problems, the main of which were namely Mira and Bertrand being unsure of just how long they would need to act the couple around her. "You haven't really been in her company long enough," Mira explained, remembering with annoyance that last time that Magda appeared in her life. "But when I say she's a devious, conniving, back-stabbing witch?" Mira shook her head, before continuing, looking irritated by her own words: "I'm not _actually_ trying to compliment her."

"...Ah," was Bertrand's only comment to the statement. Well, what else could he say? The qualities that Mira described her Mother as having were technically good qualities for any vampire to have, and ought to have been prized above others. On the other hand, he was dimly aware of the fact that growing up with a parent who seemed to possess only these qualities cannot have been any type of positive experience for anyone. Besides which, Bertrand knew how readily Magda would betray her own family, and that was something that just didn't sit right with him, though he probably couldn't explain the reason as to why that was if asked. "So, you don't think simply acting the couple would work?"

"Yes," Mira replied automatically, before frowning. "No, wait,I mean, no." She thought through the question again, and gave a nervous chuckle. "I … I don't know," she answered far more honestly. "As brilliantly devious as she is, Mum can be … obtuse, I think, is the word I want to use here," Mira nibbled her bottom lip in thought. "If she's suitably distracted, she'll happily accept pretty much anything." She shrugged to show how confused she was by this extreme in circumstantial changes, but it didn't change the facts as she knew them to be. "And Dad's been hinting that he doesn't think it would be wise to keep the press away from my blood-binding..."

"Then we've gotten our answer," Bertrand pointed out. "We act the couple, and let the, uh," he paused slightly, adding a smirk before he continued speaking, "_beautiful_ mother of the bride take her place in the society pages." He gave a look, waiting on her opinion of this plan, and Mira had to admit, he had a real talent for making everything seem ridiculously simple. It was very reassuring she thought, knowing that he was much more tactically minded than her. She could come up with a plan on the spot, but not this planning in advance. She was glad Bertrand was on her side, even if the whole Seithus thing had made her doubt it. Though thinking on it, at least _he_ had apologized for what he'd done.

"I think it'll work," she said, slightly louder than intended to block out the traitorous thoughts her mind was focusing on at the moment. Then, just as she had managed to get her mind under something that looked like control, another thought came flying out from the murky depths, smacking itself front and center and making sure all lights were on it, so she couldn't ignore it. "Bertrand," she said slowly, staring off wide-eyed into the middle distance at nothing in particular. "There's one aspect of acting like a couple we haven't considered," she continued equally as slowly, hoping that he'd had thought of this at least.

"Hm?" he asked. Damn. Clearly it hadn't occurred to him. Though, she wasn't being entirely fair considering she'd only just realised the matter herself.

"If we're going to be a convincing couple," she looked up, "we're going to have to kiss."

* * *

Eoin was skulking the corridors of the Dracula quarters, feeling ill at ease but not really knowing the reason as to why this was. He paced up and down the main hallway, looking towards the path that would have lead him to the training room, now blood bank bar room. He knew that Mira had dragged Bertrand down there for some privacy to plan their wedding – and he felt sick to his stomach every time he thought on that. It wasn't as though he didn't trust Mira. No, Mira he trusted with his whole life, hadn't he already proven that? (Technically no, but again, it is important to remember that ranting and possessing a good memory is not a good mix.)

The issue was that he didn't trust Bertrand. Not one single bit. The older vampire was always looking at Mira, every time Eoin looked over, there was was, staring intently. He didn't buy the explanation that it was simply Bertrand's duty to constantly keep watch over the Chosen One. There was keeping watch over, and then there was being a 400 year old perv taking advantage of a young girl which is what Eoin was convinced Bertrand was doing. He didn't actually have any proof for this, but he had his Slayer's instinct, and that was stronger than any proof needed to be. He stood at the top of the corridor that led down to he training room, staring at the far off and yet so close door.

"Brave man," Ingrid's voice jolted Eoin from his rambling thought pattern, and attracted his attention. Attracted was always the right word to use when it came to Ingrid. Eoin was well aware of how, well, attractive the older girl was. More so than Mira, probably. Not that, Eoin thought quickly, things like that mattered to him. He loved Mira because of who she was, because she was nice, and sweet, and looked only towards peaceful outcomes for the situations she kept getting placed into. Still, the lure of the vampire was always more potent on a deadly female, all slayers knew that. "Don't think I could do it, if I was in your position."

"What are you talking abut, Ingrid?" Eoin snapped at his girlfriend's older sister, though that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach already told him he knew exactly what she was talking about "It's a entirely business arrangement " he added, louder in the hope of blocking out that evil little voice at the back of his mind that kept telling him things and giving visual images that he really did not in any way want to have floating around his mind "That's all it is," he added, making sure he sounded as convinced about the matter as he wanted to feel.

"Sure," Ingrid smirked far too easily for Eoin's liking. "Business arrangement " She nodded, looking innocent, but still wearing that bloody – pun not intended – irritating smirk. "That's why he was so quick to propose, then," Ingrid's innocent tone made the words sound ten times worse in Eoin's mind than they already sounded to him. An impressive feat. "That's why she immediately jumped to marrying him, instead of trying to find a way out of the situation like she normally would." Ingrid sounded far too gleeful to be imparting this information to Eoin. "Business arrangement. It all makes sense now."

Eoin sometimes really hated it when he was right.

* * *

"Kiss?" Bertrand repeatedly the word with only the slightest hitch to his tone. To be fair to him, it had been a surprising sentence to hear, even if realistically he should have suspected it would become an issue somewhere along the line in their pretense Being a bit over 400 didn't excuse him from common sense. Mira nodded in response to him, and another rare occurrence took place: Bertrand found himself at a loss for words. "I," he began, stopping himself from whatever path his mind was taking. "I can't kiss the Chosen One," he said out loud, "it's treason."

"We're meant to be madly in love," Mira said quietly. "If it helps, I won't have you slain or arrested for kissing me," she joked lightly. Bertrand managed a weak laugh in return, and Mira gave a shrug of her shoulders, pulling at the sleeve of her top as a means of distracting herself as she spoke. "It's not like I'm," she stopped; there was no way to phrase it that didn't come out as incredibly rude to Bertrand and considering the freedoms he was giving up to help her, she was not inclined to be rude to him. She sighed. "I know it's not ideal, Bertrand," she said, "but there's worse."

"Worse?" Bertrand asked Mira's looked made the answer clear. "Oh," he said.

"Oh," Mira repeated, nodding her head in agreement. "But it has to be done," she said with surprising confidence. She then rolled her shoulders, straightening herself up, and tucking some hair behind her ear. "So, uh," she stuttered, confidence gone, "so, erm, how shall we do this?" Bertrand came and stood in front of her, kneeling to be level with her. Mira took a deep breath, not that she needed to. She'd never really noticed his eyes before. They were very intense. In a good way.

When he placed a hand on her cheek, she mimicked the action. Cautiously, they lent in towards each other. It was Mira who closed the gap, kissing Bertrand but it didn't take him longer than half a second to start kissing her back. There was a strange, warm, fluttering in Mira's stomach. She tried to ignore it, but the longer she kissed Bertrand – and it hadn't been long but somehow time felt deliciously slow – the more it grew. She pulled back. "Yes," she said quickly. "Well, um, we seem to know what we're doing there." She gave a nod, and stood, moving out of Bertrand's way. "I'm going to go show these plans to Ingrid," she held up the notebook. "See if she's got any ideas." Bertrand nodded. Mira left the room quickly. Once she was outside, she lent against the door. "Oh, no," she whispered to herself. "Are those baby bats I'm feeling?"

Inside the room, Bertrand was remaining silent. He glanced up at the door, ensuring it was closed, before looking at the hand that hand that had touched Mira's cheek. He turned t over, examining it with his eyes, before curling the fingers in to meet his palm.

"Bats."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next few days passed, much to Mira's eternal gratitude, in relative peace and harmony. She was not obtuse as to the reason, she knew that it was because Magda had yet to arrive. Her Mother had a special talent for bringing chaos in her wake, and the less Mira saw of it, the happier she would be, and the smoother the plan would go. Of course, that plan also depended on her getting those flapping baby bats in her stomach under control. She was dating Eoin, and Bertrand was only helping her out because he was loyal and wanted to help her escape becoming yet another horror story. She couldn't be developing feelings for him, it would complicate everything. Explaining that she and Bertrand would need to act like a couple around her family was already too much for Eoin to take.

"You need to act like a couple, with _him_?!" he had cried when Mira took him aside to quietly explain the situation in a calm tone of voice. "No, Mira, I don't understand!" he'd snapped at her. "I don't understand why you feel like this is the best plan to go with in the first place!" He had a point, she supposed. "Why can't you just find a way around the marriage, like you've done with pretty much everything else vampiric you don't like." Mira gave a sigh.

"It's not that simple," she started.

"How not?" Eoin demanded. "You're the Chosen One, just tell them you're not for doing it."

"It's really not as simple as that!" Mira said, louder this time. "I may be the Chosen One, Eoin, but I'm still a girl in a world in which being female essentially gives you the worth of a … a chair!" She wondered if this anger she was feeling was similar to what Ingrid felt all the time. No wonder her sister was always plotting something, if it was. "My being the Chosen One doesn't change much, they only pretend to listen to me, and act like I don't know they're going to try to make sure I'll never actually have to rule them," she shrugged her shoulders. "If I don't find my own husband, they'll get me one, and," she paused, a horrible image coming to the front of her mind, "I have my suspicions about what they'd consider suitable husband material." She gave a shudder. "If playing along means I'll be able to actually do something worthwhile with this power I've got?" She shrugged. "Then I'll play along."

"I still think you're risking a lot," Eoin said, shaking his head. "I mean, what's stopping him from betraying you again?" Mira fell silent, and Eoin saw this as her realising that she had never considered that aspect of Bertrand's personality as a factor in her planning. Well, at least one of them was fully aware of what a traitor she was expecting to go along completely with a ridiculously out-there plan. "He's done it before, and you forgave him, what's stopping him thinking he can lie and betray you again?"

"Like you,"Mira said, "you mean."

There was silence, as the two stared at each other. Mira got up, and left the room, Eoin still staring at her retreating figure. She couldn't have meant that, it was just the pressure of everything. She didn't still begrudge him not telling her the whole truth about his being a slayer, and why he had come to the Draculas' in the first place They were in love, things like that didn't matter, just bumps on their road of love. She didn't mean to say it, she didn't. … Didn't she?

* * *

"So, I know what my darling baby sister gets out of her clever little deception," Ingrid picked idly at the peeling paint on one of her nails. She was sitting in the library, just over from Bertrand, a bottle of fresh polish in front of her. Off Bertrand's look, she rolled her eyes. "Please," she said, "Mira is many things, but I'm still waiting for the day she can pull the cloak over my eyes." Bertrand continued to look, and Ingrid found herself mildly irritated with how slow he was being. Then she realised no, he wasn't being slow, he was being calculating, not saying anything until he knew what Ingrid's point was. Clever. Predictable, but clever. "But what do you get out of it?"

"There is no deception," Bertrand answered, totally contradicting Ingrid, who knew exactly what he was trying to do. "Your sister and I have feelings for each other and..." Ingrid's look stopped him. He sighed, and rolled his own eyes. "A place in a prominent vampire clan, to begin with," he answered blandly. "Depending on what century your Father currently is living in, a sizable dowry as well." Ingrid gave a nod at this, working on putting the new polish on her nails with intense scrutiny.

He wasn't entirely lying when he said there was no deception. They did have feelings for each other, if irritation and annoyance counted. Although... His eyes flickered down at the hand that had touched Mira's cheek when they had kis... When they had practiced a needed part of being a couple. He could still feel that oddness in his finger tips, a sort of tingling feeling as he remembered touching her pale skin. She was wonderfully cool against his fingertips, and her skin was so very soft. She was really quite beautiful, everything that a vampiress should be.

No, he couldn't allow his thoughts to go down that path. Mira was the _Chosen One_. A lowly tutor having those types of thoughts about her, well, he'd be meeting the next dawn the second anyone found out; and if the Count found out, he'd be dust long before the dawn ever reached him. "When is your Mother due to arrive?" he asked, looking to adjust his mind from the thoughts that it was currently trying to make him focus on. Bertrand wasn't entirely fond of Magda, but for Mira's sake, he would play the dutiful soon to be son-in-law. "Mira was saying she wasn't sure..."

"Tonight," Ingrid finished repainting the nail which had had peeling paint with a careful stroke of the small nail polish brush. "She's looking forward to meeting you," she added, in a casual tone, blowing gently on the nail to help speed the drying time of the freshly done polish. "The man who made Mira reject one of Ramanga's fine sons," the way that Ingrid said it, Bertrand had the strongest feeling that he was going to deal with a Magda who did not approve of the match in any sense whatsoever, but who would play along until she could see it undone. He should warn Mira, but she knew her Mother better than he did, she was probably already aware that this was likely. "But she's looking forward to the ceremony, wants to invite all the press along," Ingrid looked up and shrugged. "Well, we've got the treaty with the Slayers now, we don't have to hide her away, do we?" She grinned. "I expect she'll be the new media darling."

"No," Bertrand replied, looking down to the book he had been reading. "We don't."

He didn't seem to take any of what was written on the page.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair. Well, the Count boasted loudly of members of the Skull Club looking to get an invitation, and the amount of rejections he had had to send on 'his dear Vlatka's' behalf. It would appear the vampire world was well aware of the youngest daughter of the infamous Count Dracula being a fine example of the strong, and naturally inclined to good looking, Dracula genes. Mira rolled her eyes at this, and didn't speak. Bertrand suspected they were less aware of her being beautiful, and more aware of her being powerful, but held his tongue. It wasn't his place, not yet in the Count's understanding of matters, at least. Eoin spent much of the time sending Bertrand increasingly dark looks, and attempted to make a few threatening gestures with his knife. Bertrand wasn't affected, but he didn't pretend not to notice the cooler air between Mira and her boyfriend. He wondered if he should question as to why.

"Hello, darlings!" Magda always could make an entrance that would distract from everything else. It was fortunate that Wolfie had been complaining of an upset stomach and had fallen asleep early; they weren't entirely sure how the young pup would react to his Mother showing up like this. "Ingrid, Vladimira, come to Mummy," she held out her arms in a position that was clearly meant to call the girls forward for a hug. Instead, the girls exchanged glances, wondering just what was wrong with their Mum this time After a moment, she dropped her arms. "Where is he then," she demanded, "where's the one who thinks he can steal my youngest girl from me."

That was his cue. Bertrand stood, Mira standing alongside him, and wrapped an arm around the girl, to make them appear more the couple. He ignored the tingling in his fingers, and he nodded respectfully in Magda's direction. "Ms Westenra," he said, making sure not to make direct eye contact. He kept his head bowed, but he could tell the moment that Magda narrowed her eyes in his direction.

"_You_," she hissed. "This is exactly why I tried to get rid of you." She stepped forward, and took Mira from him. His arm felt oddly cold, but he said nothing. "Oh, Vlatka, dear, Mummy's sorry she couldn't protect you from the evil tutor seducing you," she said in what she assumed was a motherly tone of voice. Magda, fabulous as she was, had never really been what anyone could consider a natural mother. She was well aware of this fact, however, and it was usually why she didn't even bother to try.

"He didn't … seduce me," Mira said, well aware that the Count was listening in as attentively as he could. Not that she would have _minded_ if Bertrand had seduced her... No, no, brain, that was the bad path of thoughts of which she was not going to go down because it would only bring heartbreak and hurt to everyone. "He was the only insisting we shouldn't act on our feelings," she added. She turned to Bertrand, and gave a soft smile upwards at him. "But when he thought I was going to be married, well," the smile increased and those baby bats started flapping once more as Bertrand returned the smile. "I was so happy when he proposed," she turned back to her Mum. "Can't you be happy for us too?"

"Of course I am, darling," Magda was offended at the suggestion she was anything other than happy for her youngest daughter. "Always thought Ingrid would be the one to marry first, she really is the true beauty of the family," she added in a quick undertone that everyone picked up on, "but honestly, I am delighted for you." There was a pause, before she gave a devious smile. "Granny's delighted as well, says she'll be on the first ship over."

Mira and Ingrid both paled. "Granny's coming?" Mira squeaked. "But, she doesn't like travelling without Grandpa!"

"I know, poor thing," Magda said, "but it's tradition. Westenra women always gather to get one of their own ready for their blood-binding," she looked at Mira with a patronizing kindness. "You wouldn't like to break tradition now, would you?"

No, Mira suspected, she wouldn't would be the correct answer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Meeting Magda properly was an experience and a half for Eoin. She was clearly who the girls got their good looks from, and he wished that he hadn't been introduced as the half-fang the Count was 'taking pity on'. He was Vladimira's boyfriend, he didn't care that they were meant to think Bertrand was her fiance. He should be recognised for who he actually was, not what they wanted Magda to believe. Mira hadn't even apologised for what she said earlier; he had apologised about the lying to her. Hadn't he? He was sure he had. Besides which, his concealing the truth from her had been for a legitmate reason. Bertrand's betrayal was because he was in a sulk about Mira being upset and focusing on Eoin himself. Eoin was convinced that was a sign that Bertrand just wanted her attention for himself. He seemed to be loving all this attention, though Eoin crowed silently when Magda pointed out she knew it was only a matter of time before he had cruelly seduced poor Mira. Because, clearly, that was what had happened here.

"Mira," he had called later on that night, when they were out of the main room and supposed to be retiring to their own coffin rooms. She stopped in her tracks, and turned to look at him, the dim light of the hallway once again impressing on him just how beautiful she was, and how lucky he was to be dating her. "Mira," he said again, "can we talk?" There was a pause, before he shrugged, "I feel like we got on the wrong path earlier and that we should talk through it." That sounded about right.

"So you mean you're going to apologise for continually lying to me?" Mira said bluntly. Eoin scowled. He had not expected that. Mira took in the sight of the scowl, and gave an irritated scoff. "I thought not," she shook her head. "Eoin, you say you want to talk, but really you mean to want me to forgive you for everything," she folded her arms over her chest and shook her head again. "Listen, Eoin, you know that I care about you, a lot," she said, "but right now I need to think of a way that will keep me safe. And if marrying Bertrand's the best way to go about it," she gave another shrug, asking him just what he expected her to do about the situation.

"Why can't you just pass me off as a half-fang," he asked, not entirely unreasonably from his point of view. "You're doing it to keep your Mum asking questions about why there's a still living breather around the place," Eoin pointed out, "why can't we just do it to the vampire world at large?" It seemed logical enough.

"Because you're newly fanged," Mira said as if it explained everything. Eoin stared at her blankly, and she gave another sigh. "Half-fangs can only be considered as true vampires after they've made it past a few decades," Eoin continued to stare at this and she gave a half shrug. "Too many newly fanged think they can take on the world and learn the hard way that the world is more than prepared for them," she explained. Eoin seemed to understand now, as he gave a nod of his head to show so. He didn't look entirely happy about it, regardless of his understanding.

"I just," he sighed, "I don't like seeing him pawing you, babe," he moved in closer, wrapping his arms around Mira, and dropping a soft kiss on her head. "Can't a boyfriend be jealous?"

"I suppose," Mira smirked softly, trying not to wonder why the baby bats weren't flapping around in her stomach now.

* * *

"You're meant to be her father," Magda snarled over at the Count, "you should have ensured that she was engaged to the most affluent suitor you could find!" she seethed, a rustle of silk as she stormed over to his throne to better be able to rant closer to his face. "And now look at her, engaged to a … _tutor_," the way that Magda spat the word out, anyone would be forgiven for thinking that a tutor was suddenly the worst profession in the world. "It's an embarrassment."

"And here I thought you cared only for Vlatka's happiness," the Count smirked, sipping at the rich blood he was drinking from his goblet. "That tutor is, I'll have you know, unquestioningly loyal to our dear Vladimira," he said, holding up a finger to emphasis his point. "_And_, he is much more old fashioned in his … eating habits than our youngest has been since she came of rage." He took another slow, deliberate sip from his goblet and glanced over at his estranged partner of centuries. "Which I blame you for, by the way," he commented, "she never had this … infuriating obsession with breathers until you ran off with a werewolf."

"Oh please," Magda scoffed. "If anything she's exactly like her father!" She narrowed her eyes at the Count, looking him up and down with an intense fury that wasn't actually directed at him, but rather the situation they were in. "Tell me," she said, "do you still have that perverted thing for breathers, or do you like to pretend it's nothing, as per usual?" The Count squirmed in his seat, trying to avoid the intense gaze that Magda was so perfect at pulling on anyone who dared oppose her. She smirked, and it was clear in that moment that despite what she thought, there were clear things that her daughters had inherited directly from their mother.

"That isn't the point at the moment," the Count snapped, a slight growl in his voice as he spoke. "The point is that Vladimira will be married soon, and her husband can deal with all the … issues, instead of me being bothered by them." This really was a highly appealing factor in it all for the Count, and the glee in his voice as he mentioned it could not be disguised no matter how hard he would have tried. Not that he wanted to try. He wasn't a believer in hiding his own pleasure for the sake of others, seeing their misery just made it all the more fun.

"Why she made you Regent again, I'll never know," Magda scoffed dismissively. "I could do a far better job, and," she smirked again, "let's face it, I look far better on that throne than you do, _Bun-Buns_." The Count's gleeful look was replaced by a very irritated looking scowl, and Magda couldn't help but throw him a triumphant smirk at the sight of it. Really, it was really far too easy to push his buttons and get the reaction you wanted. He should do something about that, Magda had often thought, but never opted to say. Where would she get her fun if he did change? "I'm going to my coffin room," she announced grandly. "I must get enough beauty rest before the blood-binding." And with that she zipped off.

The Count's scowl fell,and he considered his ex as he sipped carefully at the blood. She really was the most traitorous, back-stabbing, evil, and petty-minded woman he had ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes on. Thankful, then, that he was _so_ over her.

* * *

Bertrand's room was like an Aladdin's cave, Mira always thought. There was something indescribably relaxing about being surrounded by so many books, not to mention mementos from years of travelling all over the world. The content of the books was surprising too, she had realised that when she picked up a book on what turned out to be Celtic folklore. "I never knew where the Chosen One would appear," Bertrand had explained to her in his reassuringly deep voice, "it felt prudent to be prepared for anything." He paused after this, turning to examine her from the corner of his eyes. A rare smile grace his face, and a soft chuckle issued forth that started the bats flapping all over again. "Though nothing could prepare me for you, Mir." She liked the way he shortened her name, it felt … special.

"I'm sorry I took so long to appear," she replied, a soft smile on her face as she ducked her head, hair coming to cover her face. Her fingers ran delicately over the book she had picked up, skimming over the words on the page with a reverent awe. She'd never really been much of a reader unless she needed to be, but there was something about being surrounded by so many books that would make anyone want to pick on up and start reading it. Bertrand sat in the chair near the book, carefully reading through a volume of his own, bound in a brown leather that had been well taken care of over the years

"Staring at me will not help you get any further in your reading," he commented casually. Mira swore she could feel her cheeks burning as she blushed, despite knowing that vampires couldn't actually blush – which had been helpful during the more embarrassing moments when she was at school. He looked up from his book, and gave a gentle smirk that had Mira wondering how many others had fallen for that smirk over the centuries. He was a handsome vampire, after all, and they did tend to find it easier to catch prey. "Unless," he said slowly, carefully placing his book to the side to sit on the top of a small stack, "there are others things you'd rather do than read."

Mira began to stammer. There was something different in Bertrand's look now, his eyes were darkened, and it brought another round of the pleasantly warm bat flutterings in her stomach. "I, uh," she tried, finding herself a bit lost for words. Bertrand stood, and came over to stand in front of her. Once again, she found herself noticing just how beautiful his eyes were. He placed a hand either side of her, and lent over her, and Mira suspected she could count every eyelash. Bertrand brought his head in closer, and Mira found herself reaching up to meet him

_Thud_

"Garlic juice," Mira swore, rubbing her forehead as she clicked her coffin lid open, sitting up right. Her room was darkened, and if she squinted she could maybe make out the signs of light from jut behind the curtains. It must have only been about mid-day. Sighing, she lay back down again and tried to get comfortable again. It was going to be very hard to fall asleep again, she could tell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Ah, Bertrand," the Count was far too loud for this early in the evening, especially after Bertrand had come from a sleepless day. It wasn't as though he hadn't attempted to get some much needed rest, but rather that every time he found himself drifting off, his mind would wander towards Mira, and the blood-binding, and how right it had seemed with his arm around her, and then he found his thoughts going to more base levels and this really wasn't the type of thing he ought to be thinking about in front of his soon to be father-in-law. "Have you got a moment?" The Count seemed paler than usual, if that was possible. "We need to, uh, _talk_."

"Of course," Bertrand said. Really, how else could he respond? He couldn't think what they had to talk about; his intentions towards Mira possibly? Despite what he had said to Ingrid, Bertrand really didn't think the Count was the type to believe in giving out a dowry for either of his daughters; not even the preferred Chosen One. "What is there that you want to talk about?" He asked. It wasn't his imagination, the Count really was paler than usual.

"Well," he began, stammering more than usual, and fidgeting with his hands – a sure sign of the Count's own unease with a topic. "You are going to be married to my dear Vlatk... Vladimira," he said. Using the full name? Bertrand began to get a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what the topic of this particularly little talk was going to be about. Oh _blood_, why him? "And, well," the Count was not comfortable with this topic at all, but even Bertrand knew that it was a conversation that had to be undertaken before a blood-binding. "We're both men of the world, aren't we?" Again: oh _blood_, why him?

"Yes," Bertrand managed to croak out the response, hoping that he was giving the right answer. He hoped that suddenly, Mira would come in with an intense need for immediate training on a particular subject. Any subject. He'd even taken her wanting to go over dusty, boring, old methods of speaking in the Council chambers than having to sit through this conversation. "Yes, I would … think we are," he added slowly, hoping once more that it was the right answer. The Count shifted once more.

"Yes, yes," he said in a distracted manner. "Well, you'll know, that, after the blood-binding that is, there are," he stopped, arching his fingers together as if to calm himself. It didn't seem to be working very well. "There are _duties_ that must be performed and I," he stopped again and Bertrand wondered if there was anything he could say, really, that would help the man. He doubted it, this was a tradition of a blood-binding after all. But still, perhaps there was some small way...

"I will take good care of Mira," Bertrand said, wincing inwardly as he hoped what he said did not come across as too crass. The Count's shoulders slumped as he relaxed, seeing no need to go on the conversation. Thank blood.

"Er yes," said the Count, patting Bertrand's shoulder. "Good man. I'm glad we had this … this talk."

* * *

Mira had been roused from her sleep by her mother and her sister, and dragged into the secondary living room and forced to stand on one of the lower tables in the room. She was still partially asleep, finally having managed to drift off again after that rather … interesting dream that she had experience. She was made to quickly change into a thin under dress shift type thing – she wasn't actually what she should call it, and her brain wasn't awake enough to consider asking her mother for the name of the thing. She was just very aware that she was cold, sock-less, and standing on a table. "Um," Mira said, "not to cast doubt but," she bit her bottom lip, and looked around, "what am I meant to be doing here?"

"Dress fitting, darling," Magda flung a swath of fabric over her youngest's shoulder, pulling it back to make out the shape of her body. "Hm, no, makes you look fat," she declared, tossing the fabric to the side with little regard for who would need to clean the room later on. Then Mira remembered that it would likely be Renfield, and she wasn't much fussed if he had a lot of tidying to do. As long as he didn't try her skirts on again – he kept bursting the stitches and her sewing was not good for constant mending.

"Try this," Ingrid made to hand over another roll of fabric to their Mother, looking up at Mira with a very careful examining eye. She held the fabric back, pulling out a corner of it, and holding it up against her arm. She scowled. "On second thoughts, it puts too much colour into her," she said, copying as Magda had done earlier and tossing the fabric away. "Luckily we've narrowed your choices down to two, isn't it, little sister?" She beamed.

Mira didn't feel very lucky.

The two dresses were laid out flat in front of her. Mira had never really been one for dresses, feeling that she didn't possess that elegant stride needed when one wore a dress to make it worth it, but these two dresses were enough to make her reconsider her whole position on the matter. The first, if she were to be honest about it, probably wasn't for her but it was very beautiful. Made of a deep purple silk, with golden lace embellishments the first was strapless, the bodice of it being more like a corset than anything else. The skirts fell to the floor, before the purple were gathered up, showing golden cream underskirt. "That one would make you look like a princess," Magda said, smiling in such a way that let Mira knew that this particular dress had been her choice.

The second dress had been chosen by Ingrid, and if Mira's first reaction to it was any judge of the matter, it was the perfect dress for the occasion. The dress was rather like an icicle to look at, being largely white in colour. Like the first dress it was strapless, but the bodice looked fitted, and the skirts trailed on the ground just slightly. The hems of the bodice and the skirt were tinged with a spreading dark blue colour, trailing light vines up the skirt. "Ingrid," Mira reached out to touch the dress, "it's perfect."

Ingrid gave Magda a triumphant smirk. "I thought you might say that," she announced. "Come on, we'll need to try it on you," she instructed, "see if any alterations need to be made." Mire hoped that nothing would need to be done to the dress, it was far too perfect and she feared touching it in any way to change it would ruin that perfect quality that she just couldn't put into words properly. Her hopes were heard; the dress fitted her as though it had been made for her all along – and Mira wouldn't have put it past Ingrid to do that just to one-up Magda, who thought all attention should be on her whenever she came swanning back into their lives. "Who knew," Ingrid commented lightly, "you actually look half way decent for a change." Mira gave a laugh, as she smiled back at her sister, knowing the compliment for what it was. "Bertrand's going to be a lucky man."

Oh. Yes. That.

Mira had forgotten it wasn't a proper wedding.

Bats.

* * *

Bertrand had been looking for somewhere to lie low after the very awkward conversation with the Count. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the, the, the intention to, erm, guide him through what should be one of the happiest nights of his unlife. But, really, no, he could do without it and now it felt like it would be a short while at least until he didn't feel just slightly uncomfortable being in the same room as the Count. Initially he had retreated to the library, to lose himself in a book on vampiric law and consider how it would work in relation to the Chosen One being female. That was something that still slightly threw him, but Bertrand was nothing If he wasn't a believer in training and knowledge being enough to set anyone up for whatever life was prepared to fling at them.

The staying in the library, however, did not go to plan as Bertrand found himself constantly distracted by loud chattering coming from the next room along, the only voice of which that he could clearly make out was Ingrid's. He tried to ignore it for as long as he could, but the noises get getting louder, and he found himself less and less able to block them out efficiently. Sighing, he shut his book with a snap, and made his way to the other room intent on telling Ingrid to at least consider other people who stayed in the quarters whenever she was having one of her chat sessions, or whatever it was she called it when she filmed herself for her video blog. Opening the door, he found the words dying in his throat.

He hadn't been noticed, but he could see the room perfectly. Mira was standing on a table, in a white and blue dress, comments being made by Magda and Ingrid. Bertrand's vision had tunneled, all he could see was her.

Bats, but she was beautiful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The sun had barely begun to make its descent in the sky when Ingrid stormed into Bertrand's coffin room, throwing open the lid of his coffin. Had this been Mira, there would have been scolding and a reminder that the lady of the house does not do such things, especially not to staff. Granted, it would end up with a glare, but the Count would be less likely to have Bertrand staked if he knew he was discouraging such behaviour. For Ingrid, well, Bertrand knew the Count could care less about either of his daughters if pushed to give an honest answer. If Mira wasn't the Chosen One, they knew how it would be.

"Get up," Ingrid commanded in the way that only a Dracula can. "You've got a suit fitting in 10 minutes," she said, "and Magda's insistent we all keep to her insane schedule." There was a brief pause. "Krone's due to arrive tonight," Ingrid added, "you'll be getting a new suit for that as well."

"A new suit?" The words were barely out of Bertrand's mouth before he realised what it was that he was actually saying, and then processed what it was that Ingrid had said. Oh fog.

Ingrid gave a dismissive sniff. "We can't have you showing up the family." Another pause. "Well, hurry and get up then!" Ingrid sped from the room.

Krone Westenra. Bertrand had heard many things about Krone and Attila from years spent travelling on his seemingly endless search for the Chosen One. Though she made the motions of following traditional to the strictest letter, everyone knew that decades of apathy on Attila's part had left Krone as the real head of the Westenra family. She was, the word went, incredibly hard to please, and had very high standards to which she held every one. Bertrand knew that this would not be the easiest of meetings. Before that, however, he had to get through the suit fitting.

Suit fitting. The words echoed slightly in Bertrand's mind. He had thought that he would have to wear one of his own suits, considering the light blue one as one of the better ones in his opinion. It had the least wear on it, at least. But he had forgotten than Magda would insist on keeping standards, even if Mira herself wouldn't care if he had shown up in training gear. The image of her clad in the dress he assumed that would be for their blood binding came to mind again, and he stifled a groan.

Lying flat in his coffin, Bertrand did not heed Ingrid's orders to get up. Instead he lay, fingers curling against the wood, as he attempted to get his mind under control.

* * *

"You took your time," Magda sneered at Bertrand when he finally made his way into the room that was being used for the fittings. He opened his mouth to respond to her, but Magda have no time for excuses or explanations of any sort. "You've put us five minutes behind schedule " she growled at him, the beginnings of fury in her eyes. Bertrand noted that this must be what was meant be the phrase monster in law. Magda stood, and began to prowl around him slowly, taking in every sight of him as if she were examining him to be bought or sold. Which, in a sense, marriage was, he supposed. "I'll give Vladimira this," there was a new hint of something to Magda's voice, and Bertrand was well aware of what it was. Magda reached out, grabbing him under the chin with one other, the other stroking his cheek. "She has an ability to choose a handsome man," Magda purred.

"I believe I have a suit fitting," Bertrand kept his voice level, and his gaze distant even though he was looking directly at Magda. It was a special talent. "For my blood binding," he put slight emphasis on the words, before allowing – he assumed - a smile that hinted of feelings of the most wonderful kind simmering under the stoic facade, "to your dear daughter, Vladimira." Perhaps the smile was more truthful than he would have allowed himself to ever think on before; not in regard to the Chosen One. Magda's hands fell, and her lip curled in the most unpleasant manner.

"Yes," she said, "her." She stepped back, putting space between herself and Bertrand that he found himself immediately grateful for, and took a step back of his own to increase it. Discreetly, of course. "Well," Magda cast her eyes up and down Bertrand once more, much more critical than her earlier examination had been, "I suppose you'll do for her. Can't expect much from her, After all," she patted her hair, "she has the Dracula looks, not the Westenra beauty." Bertrand gritted his fangs, forcing back the snarl that wanted to be set free. She was Mira's mother, for the sake of the plan he had no right. It was all the plan, after all. There was nothing more to it. Perhaps if he kept repeating that to himself, he would remember. "Well?" Magda looked at had as though he had missed out on something completely important, or perhaps it was more a look of trying to convince herself of his unsuitability "Get on the table then, we need you stretched out to get proper measurements."

Grumbling only slightly, Bertrand complied. Standing on the table put him in an open position, one that he would have preferred to avoid were this any other situation. But it wasn't. It was for hi... for Mira's blood binding and he couldn't be seen to let her down in any way. He stretched out his arms at Magda's gestured command, and tried not to snap when he hands strayed perilously close to certain parts of his body that really she had no business having her hands stray near.

Just grit your fangs, and bare it out, that was a mantra that Bertrand had used through most of his unlife. It was able to be used here as well, just grit his fangs and bare it out. It was all for the plan, and he had agreed to the plan.

Just grit your fangs.

(He only snapped at Magda once.)

* * *

Krone's arrival was with none of the fanfare of Magda's. She arrived during the day, still sleeping soundly in her coffin and wouldn't be due to awake until exactly one hour following sunset. She was meticulous when it came to her own personal schedule, and Mira was aware that she'd be living to her Grandmother's and her Mother's schedules now, and wondered if she would have any free time at all with either of them planning her every second. She'd been grabbed by Ingrid before Krone was due to awake, to be pulled into another new dress so that she looked respectable. This was a sleeveless number, dark blue in colour, with dark black floral patterns on the skirt.

Mira hadn't really considered the fact that her blood binding would mean an entirely new wardrobe. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased for the new outfits, or annoyed that her family felt that she needed new outfits. Not to add that she was receiving them under false pretenses Not that they knew that, but Mira did, and it weighed on her mind. She looked up as Bertrand was brought into the room. He had been placed in a black suit, well cut to suit him nicely, black in colour and fine wool if she had any guessing as to what her Mother would have been willing to spend so she wasn't shown up in front of Krone.

Speaking of. The clock chimed the hour, and her coffin opened. She stepped out, and took an immediate glance around the room they were gathered in. Once satisfied with her glancing around, she directly her attention to the family. "Vladimira," she intoned, her voice stern as always, "come here into the darkness child, so I may look upon you better." Wondering if she always said that, Mira complied. Her Grandmother grabbed her chin, inspecting her. "Finally," she said, "your cheeks show the paleness they should. You always had far too much colour about you." Sniffing dismissively she let go of Mira's chin, and began another inspection of the room. "Where is he then?" she asked. "Where is the upstart who wishes to marry into the family?"

Bertrand stepped forward. "Lady Westenra," he greeted, inclining his head respectfully in her direction. He held his hands behind his back, and did his best to seem like the perfect grandson-in-law, or at least as though he were the only person in the world who had the great depth of feeling for Mira that he possessed. That he was acting as though he possessed. Clarification was important, even if just to himself. "I am the one so honoured to be promised Vladimira's hand."

"Vladimira promises unwisely," Krone said, and there was a moment of panic clutching at Mira's unbeating heart.

"Granny," she said, "you can't mean..."

"Silent child!" Krone turned her gaze on Mira before looking back to Bertrand. "He will not be your blood groom unless he meets my standards," she announced grandly. "And I am very strict on standards." Bats. Krone fixed Bertrand with a stern look. "French or Italian blood?"

"Too much garlic," Bertrand answered, feeling very confused as to why that would be in the line of questioning. "However, a fine Italian blood tends to have more spice to it, while French makes for a perfect accompaniment for celebrations." Krone looked directly at him, and Bertrand wondered if he had answered wrongly. He didn't quail, keeping a level gaze back, refusing to let himself be anything other than who he was. He was beginning to realise that this was going to be harder than either of them had suspected.

"Clever," was Krone's only comment. "He shall do," she said. "For now." The addition was not a comfortable one. "You have been informed of the blood binding traditions of the Westenra's?" she asked Mira.

"Um," Mira responded, "some of them?" Krone threw Magda a withering look.

"Clearly we have no time to waste."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Krone's idea of no time to waste certainly seemed like a lot of time wasting to Mira. She had been dismissed from the main room, and sent off to her own coffin room to 'best consider the responsibilities that marriage brings to any young vampire.' She hadn't particularly liked the expression on her Grandmother's face as she had said it, and there was a strange sinking feeling in her stomach at the words. Bertrand had touched her shoulder in a show of sympathy, all part of the plan, and she could still feel the skin tingling where his fingers had barely grazed. Her hand hovered over the spot, and for a minute, it felt almost warm with the memory of his touch

"Oh, Beelzebub's bog brush!" Mira cursed, throwing herself down on to her sofa. "Garlic stakes!" she added irritably. This was not good! She couldn't be having _feelings_ for Bertrand, it would entirely and unnecessarily complicate the whole plan, and she could be doing without any more complications to her life than there already were. "It's not like I can help it," she muttered out loud, speaking to no one but somehow feeling better for the words being said aloud, "he's … it's …," she stopped and sighed. "He really does have the most amazing eyes," she allowed herself, picking at a cushion in an attempt to busy herself.

"Kind of you to say so, babe," Eoin poked his head through the door, grinning widely at the confused vampire who was his girlfriend. "Feels like I haven't seen you in ages," he said, coming in and sitting down. Mira noticed, with some annoyance, that it seemed as though he had completely forgotten the topic of their last little chat. "I've missed you," Eoin wrapped an arm around Mira's shoulders, covering the same spot Bertrand had when he had brushed his hand against her shoulder. The warmth faded, all she could feel were Eoin's clammy fingers on her skin. He lent in, and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. "I really have," he added in a whisper, stroking her hair with his hand, turning it round to rub the knuckles against her cheek. He moved to lean in again.

Mira moved out of his grasp. "Eoin," she cautioned, "my Grandmother's here." Eoin looked blankly at her, put out by her moving away from him just as they were – in his mind – getting comfortable. She sighed. "She thinks I'm marrying Bertrand, and she's worse than my Mother when it comes to tradition and doing things the 'proper' way," she crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a heavy breath in annoyance with the way events were unfolding. "I can't be in here … fraternizing with another half fang when I'm engaged."

"But you're not engaged," Eoin pointed out. "Not properly anyway." He pulled at his hair in frustration. "He hasn't even gotten you a ring, for God's sake!"

"Rings aren't … typical in vampire bindings," Mira shifted, directing her gaze down to the finger. She hadn't considered that. True, it was mostly an issue for breathers, but it had been coming into vogue within vampire society over the past century; she recalled seeing her Mother's friend showing off a large sparkler at a Ball once before her Mother left for the final time. It wasn't exactly a thing, as such, but the better off families did seem to be ahead of the trend. She couldn't work out if that meant she wanted a ring or not. She shook her head, looking away. "And I _am_ engaged." Eoin glared. "Just because it's part of a plan, doesn't make it not real."

"It's a deception, Mira," Eoin spat, "that's what makes it not real." He gave a scoffing laugh. "I can't believe you're even acting like this," he said, "it's Bertrand! Remember? He betrayed you over a Book." Mira looked away. "This is ridiculous, Mira!" Eoin moved forward, grabbing at her arms, and trying his hardest to make eye contact with her. "Just because he has to be nice to you right now for the plan to work," Eoin's voice was strained, "it doesn't mean that we can actually trust him. You know that!" He pulled her into a hug. "I love you and you love me, you know that's real, yeah?"

"I know," Mira said quietly.

There was just one problem with what Eoin expected her to know. It didn't feel real. Not to her.

* * *

"Krone's throwing a fit that we chose the blood binding dress before she arrived," Ingrid sauntered into Mira's coffin room with the freedom of one who knew that their sibling wasn't going to be in any mood to chuck them out. She picked up a small framed picture of her sister and her pathetic boyfriend, rolling her eyes at the image, before sitting it back down, face down so she didn't need to look at it any longer than necessary. "Bertrand's trying to play the caring son-in-law," she added, "I left him too it." Ingrid shrugged, and looked over, frowning slightly. "What's wrong with you?"

Mira was sitting on the top of her coffin, changed into her pyjamas and her knees hugged to her chest. She looked up, and shifted, crossing her legs and pulling at the tie with the sense of simply trying to distract herself. "I was … talking to Eoin," she said, "about the whole … engagement thing. The plan," she amended, trying to remind herself that it was her plan, and not only that, it had been her idea in the first place. "We're just," she stopped, and licked her lips out of nervous habit, "do you think it's possible to … have feelings for someone, and not realise it till you've done something really stupid?"

"You're talking about your little thing for Bertrand, aren't you?" Ingrid sighed, and swept her skirt under her, perching herself beside her sister on the coffin. Mira looked shocked, her mouth gaping open at just how casual she had been about the reveal, especially considering she had been struggling with it the past week or so. Ingrid rolled her eyes. "I've only suspected it since the Mirror incident," Ingrid made air quotes, rolling her eyes once more. She lent back, looking more relaxed than Mira had seen her in a while. "He was the only one safe from that psycho you became," she added, "figured that side of you was more willing to admit being attracted to a _proper_ vampire."

Mira looked down, pulling at her pyjama trouser leg in an attempt at distraction once again. "I think," she stopped, frowning as she shifted through the somewhat hazy memories of before she got her reflections under control, "I think I might have hit on him," she said, pulling a face. "I can't really remember a lot of it," she admitted, "but I remember … things." There was an image of her drifting her fingers suggestively up Bertrand's kendo stick playing through her mind, and she wondered why, when under the thrall of her reflections, she had given into the typical female vampire behaviour that she usually tried to avoid. Then it hit her; it was because she tried to avoid it.

"You were being very flirty with him," Ingrid agreed, thinking on her own memories of the experience. Well, apart from those slightly traumatic ones, but she did her best to never go near those memories if she could help it. "So, you've got a crush on him, and it's causing strife with the boyfriend." Mira was silent. Ingrid frowned, and sat up, looking at her little sister. "It's more than a crush, or at least, you think it might be" Mira nodded slowly, and Ingrid sat back. "Well that's put the bat among the slayers."

"That's what I thought," Mira said softly. "What am I going to do, Ingrid?" she pleaded with her elder sister. Ingrid gave a shrug, this wasn't exactly either of their field of skills. True, she may be better at controlling her feelings, but she knew what it was like to have them betray you like this – the pang of Will was still enough to get her anger rising faster than the injustice of vampire society sometimes. Mira sighed. "I'm just going to have to grit my fangs and bear it, aren't I?"

"Life is like that," Ingrid said. "Get used to it before you hit a century, otherwise you won't."

* * *

The knock on her coffin door really wasn't anything that Mira was expecting. No one she knew would knock on her door, apart from... She stood quickly, grabbing her dressing gown and wrapping it around herself quickly, cursing it inwardly for the childish bat print embroidery that she had found so sweet on ordering. "Come on," she said, picking up her brush and trying to make it seem like she had been casually occupied by anything other than considering her own feelings. The door opened, and Bertrand stood in the door way. He took in the sight of the dressing gown, and didn't move any further forward.

"Ah, Vladimira," his voice sounded oddly choked, and Mira wondered if he was getting a cold. "I, uh, didn't realise you were preparing to sleep," he stood awkwardly, unsure of whether to turn around and leave or not. On one hand, it would be the proper thing to do, on the other well, he was meant to be marrying the girl. If they were caught, it would more likely be written off as two young people mad about each other not wanting to spend time away from each other. "I, uh," he hovered.

"It's fine, I'm decent," she smiled up at him, placing the brush down, and tucking her hair behind her ears instead. It was a simple act, but he found himself just staring at it. Her hair had grown a little since she cut it, though it was still in the style of the short, angular bob. The coloured streak she had dyed in when trying to irritate the Count had grown out, and Bertrand found himself just noticing how beautiful she was when she wasn't made up. Not that he should be surprised, but still, it was catching. "What's wrong?" He shook his head, bringing his thoughts back under control.

"I wanted to present you with," he paused, holding out a small box. "It's nothing important but I thought you," he stopped. "I assumed it might be helpful, for the plan," he held the box out to her. Frowning, Mira opened the box, and peered at the contents. It was only a small box really, and it held only one item. A ring. Not just any ring, however. This right was darkly beautiful, silver with crystals, and a large sapphire stone in the middle. Even in the dim light of her room, the ring shone.

"Bertrand," Mira breathed the name, "it's beautiful." Bertrand picked the ring up from out of the box, and slid it on to the correct finger. Mira's eyes widened as she looked down at it. The weight felt... right on her finger. Like it was always meant to have been there. "It's so beautiful," she muttered again. Bertrand gave a nod.

"Then it will just compliment your own beauty."

Mira frowned, and looked up.

Bertrand had already gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Mira had been searching for the perfect blood-groom engagement present since she realised she was absolutely in no way going to hand Bertrand an engagement peasant. She was fairly certain that he knew he wasn't getting an engagement peasant, but she wanted to make sure he got a present at least. The problem was that Bertrand was someone who was incredibly hard to buy gifts for. What did you get the vampire who had traveled the world not out of pleasure, but only to follow his duty? And was only engaged to Mira in the first place due to said duty. It was not, as some might say, the usual situation. Still, as she glanced down at her ring, feeling the comfortable weight of it on her hand, it strengthened her resolve to make sure she found Bertrand the perfect gift.

It had taken a while but she was sure she had managed to track down the perfect item, it was all just a case of waiting on the vampire mail to do its stuff and delivery quickly. She held out hope that it would be very fast indeed; but was willing to give it a few nights at least. That wasn't the issue at hand anyway; Krone was insisting they had a rehearsal dinner because she was sure that inviting the vampire press; while without a doubt the smart move to be controlling Vladimira's public appearances, was crass and vulgar and they would need to have everything perfected before allowing a single one near them.

"If we show the slightest sign of anything that could be considered weakness," Krone said to the room at large, having taken over the spot at the head of the table, "they will pounce and feast upon us as if we were nothing more than breather scum." She glared at them all, her gaze lingering between the Count and Bertrand. Clearly, from her expression, she wouldn't mind if either of those two were taken out of the equation. But as it was, that was impossible to do. "We will need to be completely prepared," she insisted, "absolutely nothing can be left to chance."

"Exactly," the Count chimed in, directing his gaze at Mira. "This is why you need to be prepared, Vlatka," he said. "If they ask you anything regarding policies or practices, you turn to me or Bertrand, understood?"

"I think I could answer," Mira started, stopping when she noticed the barely noticeable head shake from Bertrand. A light frown appeared on her face, he had spent many hours teaching her how to both make and upkeep policies that would be beneficial for the good of their kind. She didn't understand why he would now be agreeing with the Count about not letting her answer any questions on it. She shot him a questioning look, to which he did not respond. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to her father. "I mean," she began again, "I think I could answer any questions set to me," she said slowly, "but, of course Dad, I'll check my answers with you." Bertrand gave a barely there nod.

"We still have to perform the blood tea ritual," Magda said, sipping at the goblet of blood she had acquired "It should be completed sooner rather than later, I think," her eyes narrowed at Bertrand over the goblet. "Unless, of course, certain persons are trying to avoid involving themselves in a sacred oath." Bertrand stiffened in his seat, and Mira automatically moved to cover his hand reassuringly with her own, giving it a small squeeze. Bertrand's gaze flitted down, hiding the surprise.

"Mum," Mira said, "since we've gotten betrothed, we've barely had any time together as it is," she glanced up at Bertrand, ducking her head with a surprisingly shy smile. Bertrand understood where she was going, and returned her squeeze with one of his own. They had to be the perfect couple.

"You can understand, Ms Westerna," he said smoothly, "why I've been so slow to mention a ritual that will keep me seperate from dear Mir when I hardly see her as it is." The dropping of the second syllable felt right as he spoke it, though he couldn't quite understand the reason as to why. He supposed it was some instinct for assuming what would be good partner like behaviour. Of course a devoted couple would have pet names for each other. Even if having a pet name for the Chosen One still felt like something that would have him facing death by dawn.

"Irregardless!" Krone snapped. "It is traditional and we always adhere to tradition." She glared at Mira and Bertrand until they let go of each other's hand, though they hadn't quite been aware they were still holding on to each other quite so comfortably. "The blood tea ceremony will take place," she announced, "tonight!"

* * *

Ingrid had been enlisted to spend time with her little sister during the period of time that she was expected to remain separate from the rest of the family while they made the preparations for the blood tea ceremony. She brought magazine and her nail care kit with her, and sat filing her nails into perfect points, while idly flicking through one of the magazines. "Hm, see that The Undeads are meant to be making a return gig for their 150th anniversary," she commented idly. "Coffin fillers. They haven't been relevant since they invented the CD player."

"Yeah, totally," Mira said listlessly, not really paying attention to whatever it was that her sister was gabbling on about. "Shouldn't stand for it," she added, proving the point that she really wasn't paying any attention whatsoever to the conversation. Besides which, had she been paying attention, she would have been offended. Mira quite liked the Undeads. She wasn't surely why exactly, but she did, and she would have liked to go to that gig if she was paying more attention and could thus pick up on the details of it. There wouldn't be a question of her not being able to get tickets; she'd get tickets far too easily. "I wonder if it's arrived yet," she muttered semi loudly.

"If what's arrived?" Ingrid looked up from her careful care of her nails, to look over at her little sister with a questioning glance. Mira was back to staring at the ground, picking at the hem of her skirt with no real intention of doing anything. Ingrid bit back the irritated sigh. Mira was really not good at boredom. She would need to deal with that. "Mira!"

"Oh," Mira jumped a little, and fidgeted with her skirts some more. Ingrid waited, and resisted the urge to grab at Mira's hand to stop her fidgeting. It was a very irritating habit, she would need to drop it sooner rather than later. "I just... I got Bertrand an engagement gift," she explained. "Because... just because." If she were capable of it, Ingrid supposed that she would feel a pang of pity here for Mira, and her pathetically obvious ever growing feelings for her tutor. Well, fiance, if she was to get technical about it, but there was the complication of the breather boy. Who didn't even have a blood type that was in fashion at the moment, Ingrid couldn't see the appeal otherwise. "I was just wondering if it would have arrived yet, or if I'd still need to wait," a small shrug, "you know what the post's like."

"It'll come when it comes," Ingrid said. "What are you planning to do about your hen night?" Off of Mira's blank look, she allowed herself a long suffering sigh. Sisters, honestly, couldn't live with them, couldn't stake them because technically it was treason and the punishment was death by dawn. "No worries, I'll sort it. As always," she gave a dangerous smile, that type that would have once sent men to their death. It probably still could, if she ever gathered the numbers that she had back in Stokely just waiting on her hand and foot. "Just leave it all to your big sister." Mira swallowed nervously at Ingrid's look. That look never meant anything good was going to happen. Well, nothing Mira'd consider good, but Ingrid always seemed to enjoy herself. "But as to the mail, I heard Renfield take something in when you were at that ... war council with Krone, Mum and Dad earlier."

Ingrid didn't even need to blink to know that her little sister had just zoomed from the room, with the aim of going to find the drooling drudge that worked for them and retrieving her parcel from him. Really, she mused, Mira could be so predictable at times.

* * *

The SCRAP street fangs were among the last vampires in the world Bertrand wanted to spend any extended period of time with. Not that he wasn't proud of his students, they were taking to blood bags and soy blood far better than they had originally suspected they might. It was just that the street fangs could be oddly tiring in a way that Bertrand couldn't properly express. That being said, at least having to work with the SCRAP street fangs distracted him from the fact that the time for the blood tea ceremony was drawing closer. They also had the bonus of not being his soon-to-be-in-laws, and the less time Bertrand spent with them, the better in his opinion. Ingrid was bearable, but Magda was not. The door received a knock, and Mira popped her head round.

"Um, Bertrand," she said, "can I speak with you a moment?" He nodded standing and shooting looks at the ferals towards the back of the room who thought themselves big and clever enough to cat call their Chosen One. She was his fiancee, he wasn't going to stand... He meant, of course, that Mira was the Chosen One, and it was a sign of great disrespect for them to treat her like the more uncouth breather males treated their female counterparts. Yes. Yes, that was it entirely, he wasn't showing possessiveness or jealousy at all. Why would he? This was all part of the plan.

She was stunning in the half light of the corridor, her features delicately lit. Her head tilted slightly, giving Bertrand a greater view of the expanse unblemished skin of her graceful neck, feeling his fangs wanting to extend at the sight of it. Bats. He was not dealing with this well at all. He cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, Mira?" he asked, making sure that he didn't make eye contact with her, but instead gazed at a spot just over her head. "Even though you know we..."

"We're not supposed to set eyes on each other until the ceremony tonight," Mira finished in a fast gabble. "I know, Bertrand," she assured him, "but it arrived and I wanted to get it to you now before the ceremony and everyone would be paying attention to us and, well," she stopped, and shook her head, lifting up a medium sized parcel at her feet which she handed over to Bertrand with a grin. "For you," she said. "An engagement gift." There was an awkward pause. "It should have come earlier, but you know what the post is like."

A ruckus started up in the classroom, distracting Bertrand from just staring at the parcel like he wanted to. His hands curled around it, as he glanced over his shoulder. "I should get back to," he started, gesturing over his shoulder. Mira nodded.

"Of course."

"But thank you," Bertrand held up the gift, "for this."

"Bertrand," Mira said, a sincerity in her voice that he hadn't imagined, "it's me that ought to be thanking you. I've no idea how I'm going to repay you for helping me." Impulsively she leant forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you at the ceremony. Good luck with the SCRAP lot."

Bertrand took a moment to compose himself before going back into the classroom.

* * *

The Count sat at the table, between Mira and Bertrand. Mira had been forced into yet another dress, this time the dress that her mother had chosen for the blood binding ceremony. She had been denied a long sleeved shrug to wear, but had been given a heavy necklace of deep purple jewels that lay against her skin leaving light patterns every time she shifted and the gems hit the candle light. Bertrand caught himself staring, and his hands curled into fists as he rested them on the tops of his legs under the table.

"I don't drink blo-" Mira had started to say, but Krone interrupted.

"There will be no soy blood," she glared at her youngest granddaughter. "This is a solemn oath between you and your betrothed," she said, her voice ringing out in those commanding tones that seemed inbuilt to her vocal chords. "Begin the ceremony!" she commanded, pouring the blood – of a fine vintage and strong smell – into the goblet. The Count lifted it, and sipped. He passed to his right, to Bertrand who copied the actions taken by the Count. He then passed the goblet over to Mira. Their fingers brushed as she took the goblet from him, and she tried to focus on the tingle rathwer than the liquid in front of her. There was nothing she could do.

She sipped.

The blood was thick and warm in her mouth, and it went down far smoother than the soy blood ever had done. She lowered the goblet.

"It is done," Krone announced.

Mira licked a little bit of blood from the corner of her mouth, keeping her eyes locked with Bertrand. She knew she was probably imagining it, but she thought his eyes darkened at the sight. No way out now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Returning to the sanctity of his coffin room, Bertrand leant backwards against the closed door, eyes screwing shut as he tried to rid himself of the image of Mira with a tiny droplet of blood at the corner of her mouth. It should not be an appealing image, he reasoned with himself, he should be surprised that the Chosen One was not able to feed herself in a clean and precise manner, not loosing a single drop of the precious blood. Instead his head kept changing the scene, showing him daringly leaning forward to lick the blood droplet away and... No! He couldn't allow his thoughts to go down this path. Engaged or not, these types of thoughts about the Chosen One were almost certainly treason and besides which, she was dating that irritating slayer Eoin. Bertrand mused that were this the old, pre-peace days, he could simply snap his neck. Then he remembered that Mira would never forgive him for it; she was unusually attached to the boy.

Sighing, he pushed himself off of the door, looking to do more practical things to at least calm his mind if he couldn't seem to make it stop from over-reacting for longer than five minutes. His gaze fell upon the simply wrapped present that Mira had broken with tradition and risked them being caught to ensure he got. The wrapping was simple brown paper, bound with a string to keep it altogether. He placed his hand on top of it, stopping himself from tearing into it. He hadn't expected her to get him anything, generally speaking it was the blood bride who would find herself lavished with gifts come a blood binding, but then he should have supposed Mira would have wanted to be fair about it all. He lifted the parcel, sitting in his seat, and stared at it for a few moments.

Biting back another sigh that wanted to come – he was not some melodramatic vampire who had perfected artistic brooding – he flipped the package over, and began to slowly open it, taking care not to tear or rip any of the paper. Slowly, the covering fell away to reveal a book bound with well cared for brown leather and gold embellishments The title of the book was simply: Legends of the Chosen, and a quick glance through the contents showed it to be a book of the different legends surrounding the Chosen One. It was a recent printing, updated to include the reveal of the true Chosen One. Bertrand gave a small smile; he had been meaning to pick this up and have a laugh at how wrong they had gotten Mira. She had anticipated his want. How nice of her.

He stood, and picking up the book with great care, moved over to the bookshelves where a spot stood waiting for the book. Shifting aside some mementos of a brief time spent in Greece – nothing he particularly wanted to remember but Greek blood was delicious – he placed the book into the spot that was waiting for it. His fingers glided over the spine of the book, the feel of the leather under his finger tips very pleasant and oddly calmly to Bertrand. Mira had thought of him. She had considered his likes and dislikes and gone shopping for a present that would suit him. She thought about him.

There was a very warm feeling in his chest. He wondered what it was.

* * *

Mira was, at that moment, attempting to be a good girlfriend and give her boyfriend some quality time that they hadn't really had any chance to have lately. She tried to ignore the feeling like she was cheating on Bertrand with it. Of course she wasn't cheating on him, after all, it was just a plan, there was no real feelings involved. She tried to ignore the twinge in her chest as she thought that though, a traitorous little voice in her head telling her that were most certainly were feelings and that she knew that deep down, she was cheating on her fiance with her bit on the side. Or, she mused, as she looked at Eoin from the corner of her eye, was she cheating on her boyfriend by falling for her fiance?

Eoin caught her staring, and she jumped a little. He gave a soft laugh, reaching over to stroke her cheek with his hand. "Mira," he said warmly, his voice filled with affection, "you really are amazing, you know that?" He was always telling her she was amazing, or wonderful, or brilliant. She couldn't help but wonder what his basis for comparison was. Ingrid? But she was all of those things as well, more so probably than her actually. Just because she showed it in a different way didn't make it any less true. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Nothing much," she responded with a soft smile. He lent in towards her, copying her smile with one of his own. She looked up at him, as he towered over her slightly, and her smile stayed in place event when he bent his head and moved down to kiss her. His lips were very warm, Mira noticed, she'd never really noticed that before. They were also sort of dry, as though he needed a good drink, and she was only just realising how much Eoin pressed in towards her when he was kissing her. She could feel the weight of him as he shifted above her, moving to get more comfortable. He was surprisingly heavy for his size.

"God," he breathed out, "you're beautiful, Mira," he resumed kissing her, moving his attentions to her cheek and neck. She sighed as he moved, keeping his weight above her as he moved to completely cover her body with his. Mira kept her arms straight underneath him, carefully not pushing up to gain some space. Last time she had tried something like that, she had misjudged her strength and tossed him halfway across the room, making him land painfully against the wall. She had to keep control, she had to keep full control of all her sense or she might accidentally hurt him. "Mira," he muttered, his hands reaching down.

"Eoin," she said strongly, grabbing his hands and stopping their descent downwards. She brought them back up, using a little of her strength to push him away from her, as she brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping arm around her legs.

"What," Eoin started, surprised by the – to him – sudden change in tone. "Mira," he said, "I thought you were all about the..."

"I may think virginity is a social construct, Eoin," Mira replied hotly. "But that doesn't change the fact that my Dad would _kill_ anyone who tried to touch me who didn't, y'know," she gave a small shrug, "put a ring on it first." Eoin gave a leer, and made an automatic glance down towards his crotch, eyebrows wriggling in a manner most obscene. "Not _that_, Eoin!" Mira wondered why her boyfriend could be so crass sometimes. Eoin laughed, and she gave another shrug. "Anyway, I am engaged," she added in off-hand manner.

Eoin's face fell, his laughter stopping immediately. "Fake engaged!" He snapped at her. "It's all part of a plan, remember?" There was anger in his tone as he moved himself, in a huff, back to his sitting position. His arms were folded over his chest, and a scowl was clear on his face. "It's not like you even like him in the first place."

"Who are you to tell me who I like and who I dislike?" Mira's question came out far angrier than she had expected it to. Eoin stared at her in shock. "I wasn't aware that being my boyfriend gave you the right to dictate such things to me," she added, sitting up straighter, an angry frown on her face. "Like it or not," she said, "Bertrand is my fiance, and we'll be blood bound in a few days. Plan or no plan." She didn't care, she decided, that her question came out angrier than she had expected. She had every right to be angry. Bertrand was doing her such a great favour, and he was going so without a grumble, the least that Eoin could do was be nice about him.

"Mira," Eoin looked up at her. "Are you telling me you do like him?" There was a scoffing laugh to punctuate his words. Mira didn't answer. Eoin's face fell.

"What."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The day of the blood binding arrived far faster than Mira had thought it would. The baby bats in her stomach started a new fluttering on the day that Ingrid and Magda barged into her coffin room to drag her from her coffin to undergo the necessary preparations. She couldn't wear just anything on her wedding day, every single item was brand new, including the underwear – Ingrid really did drag her to the nearest lingerie shop. For the dress to fit and hang properly, Mira was told, she had to be laced into a corset as tightly as they could get it. Which, considering that it was Ingrid doing the lacing, was very tight indeed. She was grateful she no longer needed to breathe, as it would have been an action that was more than simply problematic. Magda was in charge of 'putting on her face', using potions and powders to put colour in there that had never really been there in the first place. Her lips were to be the deepest of reds, more of a purple than a red, and it really shouldn't have went with the dress but her naturally pale complexion made it work. Somehow.

Magda and Ingrid stood, critically surveying their work. "Well," Magda said eventually, her lips splitting into a wide, slow smile, "I'd say we've done the best we can do." Her smile didn't falter as she reached out to brush invisible dust from her youngest daughter's bare shoulder. Mira twitched a little at the action. "You look passable _darling_, almost pretty," Magda told her, smile as wide as a soup bowl. Mira gave her own, nervous smile back, her hands clutching at the skirt of her dress, her voice stuck in her throat. Her mouth felt dry and she didn't trust herself to attempt to talk without her voice cracking horribly, or her lips splitting and bleeding with how dry they felt.

"You look good, sister," Ingrid said with more sincerity, patting her other should in a far more friendly manner than Magda's dust brush. Mira managed a more sincere smile in return to her sister, who fidgeted lightly with Mira's hair, tucking it behind her ear and patting it down into place. "Next time you cut your hair, leave us something to work with," Ingrid said in a mock-stern voice, to which Mira managed a small laugh. Magda busied herself with cracking open the celebration bottle of blood for the ladies in the bride's party to enjoy prior to the ceremony. "Ugh," Ingrid said, watching their mother, "blood hog."

"Go and get yourself some," Mira said with a small smile, "before Mum drains the bottle dry." Ingrid gave her own grin back, moving over to wrench the bottle out of Magda's hands and pour herself a large glass of the fine vintage blood. Mira did not sigh, but instead smoothed her hand against her stomach, feeling the soft and fine material of her dress underneath her fingertips. Not for the first time, she wished she did have a reflection, just so she could assure herself that she wasn't entirely horrible looking. Her hands rested over her stomach, trying to calm the fluttering going on in there. Not long left now.

"Want something to drink?"

She did.

* * *

By default, Malik had become Bertrand's best man. He wasn't entirely sure how this had happened, and the blood hangover from the stag party the night before did nothing to help explain the matter to Bertrand. He had woken up tied to the school gates, starting to smolder He knew it was a typical stag tradition but having have it happened to oneself was not an entirely pleasant experience. Malik had been declared – or possibly declared himself, Bertrand wouldn't put it past him – best man at this point, and thus was the one to fetch him back into the safety of the dank and gloom of the Dracula quarters. "See," Malik had grinned widely, clapping Bertrand on the shoulder, then batting away some remains of smoke, "nothing to worry about. Told you making me best man was a good idea."

Bertrand gave a grimace of a smile, rolling his shoulder where it had been pressed uncomfortably against the metal bars of the school gates. "You cut it a bit fine," he said simply, looking around for something to drink. Blood hangover or not, he was beginning to feel the start of nerves in his stomach, but was entirely convinced it was just hunger and that the sooner he did something about it, the better. "I'd prefer to have been brought in before I started to smell like barbecue " Malik gave a laugh, as if this was the most hilarious thing he had heard that day, and clapped Bertrand on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Bertie," he grinned, "come on, come get a shot of blood courage before you're enterally bound to a ball and chain," he gave a mock shudder that Bertrand didn't even bother to raise his eyebrow at. Really, the boy was all about the theatrics, it was easy to see that he was trying to be something he wasn't. At least, it was to Bertrand, but he was aware his powers of observation were slightly greater than most. "Then it's time to struggle into the suit and go though that binding ceremony," Malik made fake choking noises, as if it was the last thing in the world which he would want, but there was a glimmer in his eye as he slid the shot glass of blood down the counter to Bertrand. "You will," there was a pause, and it was almost as if the words were hurting Malik, "Mira, you'll, you'll look after her, right?"

"The Chosen One's well-being has always been and will continue to be my highest priority," Bertrand's answer was entirely honest, as he downed the shot of blood in one go, the liquid barely touching the sides as it went down. He placed the glass back on the counter top and stared into it for a moment. Mira's well-being, this was how all of this had started in the first place. If there wasn't such a custom to encourage the crueler behaviour of male vampires, she could have been married off to anyone. And he would still be there, forever on the sides, looking but never allowed touc- No! Why were his thoughts going there? This was not better, having these... these feelings for his ruler, his Queen, who he suspected still saw him as her boring old tutor.

The doors slammed open, but he didn't look up. "Eoin, my main fang!" Malik greeted, hand raised in the air, and smile wide on his face. "Come sup with us, we're toasting the last hour of freedom before Bertie here gets himself shackled down." Eoin gave a loud scoffing noise, kicking a chair as he walked past them.

"Good luck to him," he sneered, "he's getting himself bound to someone who doesn't know what the fog it is she wants." Bertrand raised an eyebrow just slightly. Now, what was that all about?

* * *

"_You cannot be serious, Mira!" Eoin jumped to his feet, his chest swelling with what he believed to be righteous anger. "You can't actually__** like **__that old creep!" He gave a nervous laugh, reaching out and taking her by the hands. They were cold, he noticed not for the first time, and wondered if she ever took some of his body heat in. "Listen, babe," he soothed, "it's just this situation, that's all it is. It's making you confused and that's what this is," he raised a hand to stroke her cheek, "it's just confusion, babe."_

"_So what? You're saying that now I don't know my own mind?" Mira shoved Eoin back, wrenching his hands off of her, a look of irritation mixed with anger passing over her face. His hands were warm too warm right now, and she didn't need the heat. "Excuse me, Eoin, but I'm not that much of a hopeless romantic," she felt insulted at the implication otherwise. "We have to face facts, and whether you like it or not, the reality is that I will be blood bound to Bertrand, and he'll be my husband," she glared over at the boy who she was so sure she had such warm feelings for, wondering why now all she felt was anger towards him. "It'll be a lot easier on us both if we at least try to get along."_

"_Oh, believe me, don't think he'll need to try very hard," Eoin sneered, rolling his eyes. Mira stared at him, arms crossing over her chest._

"_And what is that supposed to mean?"_

"_Let's face it," Eoin gave a shrug of his shoulders. "What's he getting out of this? The entire vampire world thinks his 400 year old self is able to catch someone who hasn't even hit her fifties!" There was a tone of disgust in Eoin's voice, and it made Mira feel, well, not at all nice. Slimy, was perhaps the word for it, though it didn't seem to quite fit the way she felt entirely. Becky had been fond of 'skeevy' as a descriptive phrase, and right now, Mira could see the appeal. She looked towards the ground as Eoin continued to talk. "Just a bit of eye candy for people to admire while he goes around hitting on the older sister and perving over the mother!" He looked at her. "Bertrand's a perv-"_

"_I think you need to leave," Mira said. Her voice shook a little, but she managed to stay strong within herself. "I get it, you think I'm selling myself out." Eoin's face fell._

"_No, that's not what I meant."_

"_That's exactly what it sounds like," Mira shot back at him. "And maybe I am, but it's better than being sold to someone who won't give a damn about me," she stood. "Sort of like you." Eoin made a noise of protest which died in his throat as Mira clicked her fingers, silencing him. "I thought you'd at least try to understand how important this was Eoin, but all you've done is bitch to me about how unfair the whole thing is to you!" She gave an incredulous laugh. "Here's the thing; Bertrand's the one actually giving up his freedom here, and I have no way to repay him. But I know he'll be my husband and you can at least show him some damn respect."_

"_And if I don't?"_

"_Then we're kidding ourselves," Mira answered simply. "In fact, I think we've been doing that all along." She sighed. "I'm sorry Eoin but, it's not working out. I ... don't think we should be together anymore."_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Elinor Grey was the lead reporter for _Blue Bloods _magazine, the only vampire society magazine to be seen in if you wished to claim to be an actual somebody in the vampire world – _Bite_ was all well and good but any half fang who'd made a name for themselves could get in there. She and her team had been invited along to the Chosen One's blood binding ceremony by means of a glided invitation straight from the mother of the Chosen One herself. They were, it was kindly requested, permitted to cover both the ceremony and the after party, and were the only publication being offered a glimpse into the ceremony, thus would be the first to upload pictures of the lucky vampire who could call himself the blood groom of the Chosen One. Rumour had it that she was marrying a well thought of half-fang. After having rejected one of the Ramanga sons. The sheer scandal if it were true.

They had been allowed into the hall where the ceremony was due to take place early, in order to set up their state of the art, high range digital camera equipment. There were those who still preferred the hand-drawn images and while Blue Bloods did employ some of the very best in portrait drawers in their staff, they would not let themselves be outdone by the lesser, gossipy tabloids, who seemed to all use digital cameras these days. They would upload the photos to their website, and write up the most glorious article about the blood binding ceremony and feast of union of the Chosen One for the next issue of their printed magazine. It would be one of the best issues they would have this year, without a single doubt, Elinor was sure of it.

"Elinor!" Magda's voice was filled with the pretentious kindness you'd expect from a high standing member of society. Elinor turned, giving a smile that didn't show her teeth as the two kissed the air in front of each other cheeks. "Splendid to see you," Magda said, carefully adjusting a heavy diamond bracelet to catch the light in a way that was clearly meant to be more eye catching. Too much in the way of jewellery was gauche, in Elinor's opinion, but these want-to-be famous society vampiresses didn't think of anything other than making themselves look at their most impressive. "Can tell you how delighted I am that you're covering my dearest Vladimira's blood binding," Magda continued, carefully placing her long hair just so over her shoulder. "We're all a flutter here, I can tell you."

"Of course," Elinor's smile still didn't show her teeth,and her stylish glasses didn't stop her from peering around Magda as though she were expecting someone else to appear. "We _were_ hoping to maybe grab an exclusive with the Chosen One before the ceremony...?" Magda gave a very fixed smile. This wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"Dear Vladimira is far too busy with final preparations to be disturbed at the moment," she said, in a surprisingly stern tone, all things considered. "She asked _me_ to come out and speak with the press on her behalf until after the ceremony, when she and her blood groom will, _of course_, say a few words for the amassed press," Magda's tone had returned to that odd sort of simpering one which she used to make people think her far sweeter than she was. If quizzed on it, her daughters wouldn't explain if they understood the meaning behind it; it made no sense to them, especially when considering that the society they lived in was far more approving of fierce attitudes than sweet ones.

"Of course," Elinor repeated. She knew exactly how to deal with a situation like this. She brought out the voice recorder she used at every interview from her black patent leather clutch. "While we're waiting," she said, "a few words with the glamorous mother of the Chosen One?" Magda gave a wide smile, touching her hand to her chest in a mimicry of surprise.

"With me, darling? I can't think why anyone would want to hear from little me?" The smile hadn't decreased in the slightest. "What would you want to talk about?"

* * *

"_We … Mira, you can't be serious!" Eoin sounded almost heartbroken, but there was anger mixed in with whatever upset he was feeling. Mira crossed her arms over her chest, standing from her couch and moving to the wall on the opposite side of the room. She felt the need to put some space between her and Eoin at the moment, though it was more of an instinctive reaction than any coherent thought on the matter. "Mira, I __**love**__ you," Eoin got up, moving over towards her, "and you love me. You can't … This blood binding, it's just putting a lot of stress on us, that's all it is." He wrapped her arms around her, and Mira softened just slightly. "Me and you, we're the future, babe," Eoin consoled her softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, "we're going to show them all how vampires and breathers can interact and the best of it is, it's just coming from us being in love."_

"_I..." Mira began, sighing heavily, "you don't think I don't already know that Eoin?" She shook her head, momentarily enjoying the warmth coming from his arms but wondering at the same time why it was that somehow, and she didn't understand how, the warmth didn't feel as comforting as it once did. "I know that we're important, okay, I get it," she sounded frustrated and tired and she had a brief moment of considering giving it all up. Anything to stop her feeling so tired. "But, selfish as it seems, I have to make sure of my own security, and you insulting Bertrand at every turn isn't helping."_

"_Then I won't insult him," Eoin said simply, bringing his lips to meet Mira's in a soft kiss. For a moment, Mira lost herself in the kiss. Like always with Eoin, it was soft, and gentle, and warm, and she could feel the warmth going right down to the tip of her toes. Nothing else mattered in that moment. She was just a normal girl, having a romantic moment with her boyfriend who she was in love with. Except... She stopped, and pushed him away from her, a hand going up to touch her lips almost in shock._

"_No," she shook her head. Eoin gave a noise of confusion, his brow furrowing at he looked at her. "No, it's more than just you insulting Bertrand at every given opportunity," she said. "Eoin, we've not been right for ages now, we're just going through the motions of a relationship and we both know it." She stepped backwards as Eoin stepped forward, holding her hands out to stop him. "It's not been right since I found out..."_

"_Mira, you know why I couldn't tell you I was a Slayer," Eoin cut in very quickly. "It all changed so quickly, I met you, and I believed in your vision for the future and I didn't want to be what my family had planned for me to be anymore."_

"_So why didn't you tell me then?" Mira asked. Eoin stared, mouth hanging open for a few moments, but no sound issuing forth. "You said that when I told you my plan for peaceful co-existence, you saw a different way, a better way. So, why didn't you tell me then you were a slayer?" She gave a sad sounding laugh. "I'd already accepted you lying to me about being a breather, I'm pretty sure adding Slayer on to that then wouldn't have made much of a difference. But no," she held up her hand, cutting off Eoin's protests, "you continue to lie to me for __**months**__, when we were __**dating**__, about the only reason you were here wasn't that you were a lucked out breather, but instead someone intent on killing my family."_

"_Mira, you're being completely unreasonable about this!" Eoin snapped, anger clear on his face by this point._

"_And you're making me wonder what I ever saw in you in the first place," she replied quietly. "Can you just …" she sighed, and made a vague gesture with her hand, "can you please just ... leave?"_

* * *

A knock on her door brought Mira out of thoughts. "Um, yeah, it's open," she called over her shoulder, fidgeting with Mr. Cuddles II for the sake of something to do with her hands. He would be removed from her coffin room during the ceremony, she realised with a bump in the bottom of her stomach. They were delivering the double coffin during the ceremony for the … evening of the blood binding, something that caused her stomach to do multiple flips when she even ventured her thoughts near it. "Come in," she added, realising whoever it was that knocked was probably trying to be polite.

Malik entered, cleaned up and ready for the ceremony though he still wore his leather jacket instead of the suit jacket Ingrid had insisted he get fitted for. "It's me," he said unnecessarily. "Just thought I'd come and make sure there were no cold feet, well, colder than normal," he half joked. Mira gave a weak laugh, a timid smile given in his direction. "You look," he gestured at her, a smile on his face, "you look amazing," he said finally, hands falling to his side. "Bertrand's one lucky vampire." If Mira were her sister, she'd assume jealousy in Malik's tone, but she didn't have Ingrid's deserved confidence in her own beauty. It wasn't jealousy in Malik's tone, but something warmer. Mira couldn't place what it was.

"Thanks, Malik," Mira said. "And … thanks," she added, "for agreeing to be Bertrand's best man. I know the SCRAP kids can't stand me at the moment," she said.

"No, they like you," Malik cut in. Mira gave him a look. "Okay, so they don't _like_ you exactly," he conceded, "but it's not that they can't stand you," he said, trying to make sure Mira got the proper story instead of her misguided opinion. "They're trying, we are all." That was true."This whole … soy blood instead of real thing is hard going when you're used to the real stuff," Malik explained with a shrug, knowing that his explanation wasn't exactly the greatest in the world. "But they … we … it's not that they can't stand you," he finished.

"Well, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy," Mira gave another laugh. "Why are you here, Malik?" she asked. "Aren't you meant to be," she shrugged, "I don't know, preparing a speech filled with dirty jokes and badly hidden innuendos?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were alright," he said. Mira frowned.

"Why do you care?"

Malik shrugged. "Just do."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"_Leave? Okay, now I'm sure you don't know what you're saying," Eoin stepped closer to Mira, who stepped back again to try to create a safe distance between them. She wasn't sure why she wanted a safe distance, but it was something that her instincts were insisting on having. "Mira, if I leave now, that's it, I'm not coming back." The way Eoin said it, Mira suspected it was meant to be some kind of pleading warning, to make her change her mind._

"_Then go," was her simple reply to Eoin's warning. Eoin stepped forward once more, and when Mira stepped backwards, her back hit against the corner of the wall. Whether she liked it or not, she was effectively trapped by Eoin's continuing to move forward. "Eoin," she said, her voice cracking just slightly. Breaking up with someone was far harder than she had ever realised, and she had a moment of gratitiude that she and Robin had never really gotten far enough to call themselves boyfriend and girlfriend. She wouldn't have liked to go through this pain with him. "Eoin, I'm serious," she repeated, "you need to leave. Now. Or sooner."_

"_Mira," Eoin's voice had dropped to a compelling whisper. "You're so beautiful, but I'm the only one who sees it," he said, placing his hands on the wall either side of her. One hand turned around, going to stroke her __c__heek as he leant in close to her face. Mira turned from him. "You're perfect and no one but me knows that," he said again, gently placing his hand on her chin and directing her face back to look at him. "I love you," he said, making sure his words and meaning were equally as clear as each other. "I love you, Mira, and you love me."_

"_Eoin-"_

"_We're going to be together," he said. "The perfect example of breather and vampire co-existence, and the perfect example of a relationship." He sighed, his hand now stroking her hair, his voice exceedingly gentle in its tone. "You're absolutely perfect, why can't anyone else see that? Why is it only me who notices?" He leant in, and pressed his lips against hers, letting out a soft moan, bringing his other hand down from the wall to cup her other cheek, pulling her face forward to deepen the kiss. Mira's hand raised._

_Eoin found himself looking up at the ceiling, having been pushed backwards until he landed heavily on the couch, which was still rocking a little from the force of the push he had experienced. "How dare you?" Mira hissed. "How dare you force a kiss on me after I asked you to leave?" Eoin couldn't help but notice, though this really wasn't the time for it, that her natural accent seemed to come out more when she was angry. It was interesting, and very oddly intoxicating. He stood, shakily._

"_I thought-"_

"_You thought wrong," Mira hissed again. There was a flash of white at her mouth and unless Eoin was very mistaken, he could have sworn he saw a hint of fang. "I am Vladimira Dracula, and I am not to be some breather's plaything!" Eoin found himself stepping backwards, a hint of fear at this anger of Mira's which he'd never really seen before. If he ignored the fear, and he was trying hard to do _

_so, he could see how beautiful the anger made her, lighting up her eyes in a way that made them mesmerising and made him want to lean forward and kiss her. Her eyes darkened. "Now __**leave**__." _

_There was nothing else Eoin could do but obey her words. "You decide what it is you actually want, Mira," he snarled at her, not being able to resist the chance of a parting shot,"you know where you can find me." He slammed the door behind him as he left_

_Mira sunk down on to her sofa, and though she didn't need to, breathed deeply._

* * *

The ceremony was due to take place in an abandoned church hall not too far from Garside Grange itself. It had been abandoned long enough that it was safe enough for the vampire guests to enter, while it was still relatively new enough to have that sense of grandeur many smaller buildings tried to install in themselves with grand paint work and elaborate fixings. Bertrand stood at the front of the hall, in front of the lectern that was to be where the Count – on behalf of the Council and due to his being Regent – would conduct the blood binding ceremony. He pulled nervously at the sleeve of the fine wool suit jacket that had been especially tailored for him with cunning onyx bat buttons. Malik, standing beside him, slapped his shoulder in a cheerful manner. "Don't worry, Bertie," he said in a good natured tone of voice, "there's always divorce."

Bertrand shot him a look. "Yes, Malik," he said evenly, "very helpful." He pullled at the sleeve again, and began to pace around in the short space allowed to him that was considered the blood groom's side of the proceedings. It was a formality mainly, and the assembled members of the press would be directed to his side to sit; he had already caught sight of Elinor Grey of _Blue Bloods _and knew that the publication would be uploading sneakily taken pictures of the Chosen One's blood groom to their website as he was thinking it. "Where is she?" he muttered, looking down towards the door.

As though the door itself had been anticipating his question, the doors opened. Standing at the front of the blood bride's party was Ingrid Dracula, head and only bridesmaid. She was clothed in a black gown, simple and the deep purple design on the skirts was understated. Enough to bring out her beauty but not to show up the bride. After all, wasn't it always said it was the bride's day. She stepped forward, smirking as she clutched a boquet of dried roses, their petals a purple-black in colour. The digital cameras began flashing, no publication wanted to miss out. "She scrubs up well," Bertrand could heard Malik say behind him, and that brought the slightest of smirks to his face.

Then his vision tunnelled as Mira stepped through the door, the white and blue dress clinging to her in ways that made Bertrand's mind turn to thoughts that could only be considered treasonous if ever discovered. He stepped backwards, falling into line with Malik, and swallowed dryly. "She's beautiful," the mutter fell past his lips before he had a chance to stop it. Malik gave him a side long glance, looking over at Mira and then back at Bertrand with something … _something_ in his eyes.

"And," Malik said quietly, "you'll take care of her?" Bertrand frowned, and turned to look at Malik. Something in the candlelight changed, changing the way the light fell across Malik's face. Then Bertrand found himself blinking and beginning to _really_ look at the boy. When it came to him, he didn't step back, he didn't yell out in awe, no, he kept quiet, but realised why it explained things. But then ... why had no one spotted it yet? It was there, clear as night, written all over his face. The boy stood, silent but waiting. How much longer would he have to wait, Bertrand wondered.

"I will," Bertrand promised.

* * *

The bats were flapping at full speed inside Mira's stomach, and she was sure she wouldn't be able to keep down anything that she had consumed that morning. The walk up to the make shift altar was one of the longest, and yet one of the shortest experiences of her life. The start of the walk seemed to take forever, the way stretching out in front of her like an endlesss path. Before she knew it, Bertrand was holding her hand, helping her up on to the step, looking at her with eyes so wide that Mira thought it possible to make out every single shade in them. His hand was larger than hers, and it was a reassuring feeling to be clasped within his grasp.

She could barely hear the words her Father recited as the ceremony got underway. She was too distracted by the murmurs of the press, and the constant flashing of lights that were constantly making her blink because somehow they kept getting right in her eyes. Bertrand noticed, shifting so that his back blocked the majority of them, leading to murmurs of outrage from the assembled members of the press. "Thank you," Mira whispered, smiling softly up at him. Now that she could actually see, she noticed that he was in another finely tailored suit; and that they had even managed to wrangle Malik out of his leather jacket for the occasion. He smiled over at her, a warm smile that was different to his usual cocky smirk, and Mira couldn't help but to give a similar smile back. There was just something about him, she couldn't quite her finger on it yet, but there had to be a reason he kept hanging around the blood bank when the rest of the SCRAP vamps couldn't wait to leave.

"And now, the exchange of bites," the Count announced grandly. In a break from tradition, he turned to Mira first, who looked startled by the action. It was always the male vampire biting the female first. But, of course, her brain caught up with what was happening, she was the Chosen One. She couldn't be seen to be lesser than anyone, even if she was just a female. Bertrand bowed in her direction, undoing the top button of his shirt to allow for clearer access to his neck.

"I submit myself to the first bite of the Chosen One," he recited the words Krone had hammered into them for the entire week. To give herself time, Mira turned to Ingrid, handing her sister the boquet of lillies she had been carrying for the ceremony. Ingrid smirked at her, taking the boquet, and giving her a gentle push forward in the shoulder. Mira righted herself, covering the slight stumble by straightening her skirts as though they were irritating her. She stepped forward, and bared her fangs, placing her hands on Bertrand's shoulders to steady herself as she leant up.

She drove her fangs into his neck, and tasted his blood.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_Well, dear readers, you will be delighted to hear that __**Blue Bloods **__exclusive insight look into the wedding of Chosen One Vladimira Dracula was not confined to the ceremony itself; we had exclusive rights to interviews with all family members. Hear the words of the Chosen One's Mother – Magda Carmilla Elizabetha Bathora Westerna – on this happiest of occasions for her daughter. Be enlightened at Grandmother Krone Westerna's strict timetable that our dearest Chosen was to keep to; all tradition, all the time. And of course, we hear from the Prince of Darkness himself, the Grand High Vampire Regent Count Dracula, about unlife, his dear Vlatka, and what policies we'll be likely to see in the upcoming months. All in this upcoming month's __**Blue Bloods **__magazine – only the grandest for the grandest_

* * *

The bite mark on her neck tingled and Mira did her best to stop herself reaching a hand up to touch it. Was this how it felt for all half-fangs, she wondered. This strange sensation of pulling at the pit of her stomach, making her want to be near Bertrand, to always be in his company, or was it her own mixed up feelings getting ever more complicated by the effects of a simple bite? Well, more than a simple bite, to call it simple would be to vastly understate its importance now, but Mira couldn't help the way her mind wanted everything to be, well, simple again. Ever since this plan had started it had... No, it had been longer than that hadn't it? She could recall the first time she saw Bertrand, and her first thoughts were admittedly shallow, focused on his good looks and striking eyes. Then she found out he was to be her tutor and the anger took over but she had never lost that feeling of attraction towards him. Even when she was dating Eoin

_Eoin_... Just thinking about it made a dagger twist in her stomach. How could, she meant to say how was it that, oh, she didn't know what she wanted to say about it. It wasn't that it didn't hurt because it did. A lot. A lot more than she would ever be prepared to admit to Eoin if he ever had the decency to talk to her again in anything like a civil manner. But he was her first love, she supposed, and breaking up with him hurt. Though... even though it was more painful than she'd care to admit, she had the funniest of feelings that it wasn't painful _enough_. There was this large part of her that just simply didn't care.

"Your Grandness," a reporter pushed their way through the crowd of well wishers she hardly knew that had surrounded her. "Your Grandness, Ivan Mortadori, for _The Sun Block_? I was wondering if you could spare a few moments to speak to our readers," Ivan's pen was poised on the notebook in such a way that Mira suspected that yes, she could spare a few moments. "What do you say to commentators who speculate that this is a sham marriage, and that you had ought to have been properly wedded to a vampire of noble family?"

Mira suspected that if she could flush, she would have at that moment. "I would ask if these commentators happen to be Ramanga's son," she managed weakly, forcing a smile. Ivan gave a soft chuckle but she could see the hint of fang ready to dig into what he felt was a major story just perfect for the tabloid paper _The Sun Block_ happened to be. "Do you really think my family," and wasn't she glad of their arrogance now, "would allow me to marry anyone they didn't think worthy of me?" Ivan pondered this for a moment.

"But, in all seriousness Grandness, a _tutor_?" He gave a small scoffing laugh. "And a half-fang at that."

"My blood-husband is one of the most committed vampires I have ever met," Mira gritted her fangs, inwardly counting backwards to calm the anger that coursed through her. Who cared if Bertrand was a half-fang? He was one of the best people she'd ever known, and she didn't get why the fact that he had been turned into a vampire should count for anything more than an accident of birth making him one. "His blood status is of no importance to me," she added quickly, in a tone that came directly from Krone herself. "As I have said, I would not have been allowed to be bound to him if my family did not find him worthy." She was sounding arrogance, over important, and slightly snotty. All things she detested from her Mother's side of the family, coming to the fore as her irritation with this reporter grew. "Now, if you'll excuse me," she brushed past him, making her way across the hall to deliberately link arms with Bertrand. He frowned a little, glancing back in the direction that she had come from, but said nothing, instead squeezing her hand in a show of comfort that made Mira forget for a moment that it was just an act.

"Mira," Bertrand turned to her suddenly, drawing her out of her own rambling thoughts. "I think we're expected to dance," he gestured towards the middle of the hall, where a space had been cleared to allow for dancing. Of course, she had forgotten. It was traditional for the newly bound couple to lead the others by starting the first dance together. Mira glanced towards the space, and turned back to Bertrand, clearly lost as to what to do. She was still preoccupied with the stupid questioning of the reporter and had forgotten some of what Krone had spent good time drilling into her. Bertrand held out his hand to her and, slowly, Mira took it, allowing him to lead her to the floor and into the dance.

Neither of them were dancers, that much was true. But between them, they managed not to step on each other's feet, instead moving in a slow, almost graceful sync to the music. The music was a swelling piece, not really what Mira would have chosen for herself, but it was nice enough. Towards the end, the hint of threat in the piece was a perfect musical representation of what Mira meant to be - visually beautiful, but a danger to anyone who crossed her. The perfect Westerna woman. But... she wasn't a Westerna. She was a Dracula.

That's what she needed to make people realise

* * *

"So, dearest little sister," Ingrid sipped from her glass of fine blood wine with all the grace Mira could never muster, "Looking forward to your wedding night?" Mira coughed, choking on the mouthful of soy blood she had just taken. Ingrid patted her on the shoulder absent mindedly, in a half hearted attempt to offer some kind of help. "I'll take that as a yes then, shall I?" Ingrid's tone was teasing. For once, Mira's sister was in a good mood. She had been praised as far more beautiful than their Mother - much to Magda's visible irritation - and had generally had a good night. That didn't happen often, so she was enjoying the sensation of it.

"I just... _Ingrid_!" Mira managed eventually, her voice sounding hoarse from the coughing. "You can't just completely suddenly ask a person that!" Mira's cheeks felt as they should be burning, she could feel them burning, but of course, that was impossible for vampires. "What if someone heard?!" She glanced around them, as if expecting to see the gathered members of the mass media leaning in, ears burning to over hear the private conversation between the Dracula sisters. Ingrid rolled her eyes.

"Pretty sure only _Veins and Arteries_ would be interested in that, Mira," she scoffed, "and they wouldn't dare print it. Dad would drain them dry," she added in an off hand sniff. She glanced around the room, appraising the guests with a critical eye before her gaze stopped on one person in particular. "Malik's been particularly … helpful today, wouldn't you say?" she said in such a causal tone of voice that Mira immediately gave her a look, wanting her to get to the point and not play any silly games. Ingrid rolled her eyes again. "It's just been bothering me. He spends all of his time here, and we are not that interesting and he definitely isn't interested in one of us," Mira wondered how Ingrid had discovered that but thought it best not to ask, "so why?"

"He reminds me of someone," Mira said, a silent agreement of Ingrid's irritation. "I just … can't place who." She worried her bottom lip. "It's almost … it's like it's on the tip of my tongue, but it just won't come out," she explained, a frown growing on her face. "It's annoying."

"That's a phrase for it," Ingrid muttered, staring at the vampire in question for a few minutes longer before turning her gaze away. "It's getting to that time, little sister," she changed the subject with an easy tease, smirk playing across her face, the blood red lipstick really working for her. "Go," she urged, "be with your new husband," the teasing tone was not dropping and Mira wished she could get away with a playful slap to the shoulder but no, it wouldn't be done for the Chosen One to appear irritated easily. Krone would be furious, and her Mother would only take her to the side to whisper snide, spiteful comments in her ear.

She moved away from Ingrid, crossing the room as she had done earlier in the evening to join her hand with Bertrand – who was speaking to Augustus about some matter of the Council and yes there was the smallest pinch of annoyance that they had already started to bypass her completely but she would deal with it when the baby bats in her stomach weren't flapping about at full speed. Bertrand glanced down at her, smiling softly, which did nothing to calm the baby bats, and she took the chance to press a little closer to him, allowing herself to pretend, just for a moment, that this really was her new husband smiling at her. "It's getting near time," she whispered softly, her free hand drawing patterns on the hand of Bertrand's that clutched hers.

Bertrand gave a low laugh. "Anyone would think you were anxious," he muttered at her, turning and dimissing himself and her from Augustus' company. Mira's stomach lurched, but then she remembered that Bertrand always had been better at keeping up a pretence than she had. But this was an important part of the plan and if it wasn't believed, the whole thing could fall through and it wouldn't take long for her Father to arrange a match with a vampire of impeccable social standing and completely outdated ideals. Bertrand brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles gently. "Time to go," he said, just loudly enough to be overheard.

There were catcalls from members of the press, who snapped pictures and made loud, obnxious comments about how soon it would be before they could expect an heir. Bats alive, Mira thought, she wasn't even 18 yet, and they wanted her to be a mother as well as a wife. They walked out of the hall, away from the celebrations which they could hear continuing as they walked down the corridor towards her coffin room. No, it wasn't hers anymore, it was theirs now, Mira realised with a jolt. Bertrand opened the door and she entered silently. He shut the door behind them, hoverring behind her.

She turned to face him, thoughts and thoughts running through her head but none seemed quite right to say at the present moment. She didn't have to, Bertrand held up a hand to silence her, and only a moment later was throwing open the door. Her mother stood there, resplendid in her obscenely expensive dark red dress, looking irritated at having been stopped from her listening at the door. "Sorry," Bertrand said to Magda. Madga didn't respond straight away, but instead raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth to speak. Bertrand got there first. "It's just, if not, we'd rather like to be alone." If Mira's heart could beat, it would have skipped one then. Maybe he did have feelings for her after all. But then the more sensible, logical part of her spoke up. Don't let your heart rule you, it said, he's just following the plan.

"I'll come to check on you later, Mira darling," Magda turned away with a rustle of her expensive silks. Check. Oh, damn. She had almost forgotten about that particular Westenra tradition, arachiac as it was. It wasn't as if she hadn't felt humiliated enough when Krone and her Mother had sat her down and explained exactly what was expected of her on her binding night, and the duties she was expected to perform. It was all about what was expected, she noted dimly. Bertrand shut the door behind Madga.

"Think she meant that?" Mira could only nod in response, feeling miserable about the whole thing. She should have found the time before now to approach Bertrand about this, to discuss their plan for this particular night but whenever her head even drifted close to those thoughts the baby bats in her stomach would start up their flapping once more, heavier than ever. There was an awkward silence, in which they didn't exactly look at each other. Mira gave a shrug. "Well, I suppose," she managed, "that's the wedding out of the way now." She gave a weak laugh. "Never have to do that again, thank blood."

Bertrand nodded. "That's it, we're blood bound." It seemed as though that was it, but Mira knew that they were both aware of the one more duty they were expected to _perform_, for lack of a better phrasing. There was a part of her, no matter how much she had tried to deny it over the past short while, that was overjoyed at the thought of doing... of doing _that_ with Bertrand. But what would he think? She knew she wasn't all that much, Eoin found her attractive but that was... before. Now, well, now she wasn't sure.

Still, it had to be done. "Now what?" she asked.

Bertrand just looked at her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

In hindsight, Mira realised she should have known that there would be no way Ingrid would let her have her comfortable - and childish - bat print pjyamas for her wedding night. But she would have never have thought Ingrid would stoop this... was low the word for it? It was a scrap of fabric, more like a tiny dressing gown than an actual nightdress. Low cut, fringed with lace, Mira supposed she just ought to be glad that she was left (matching) underwear to preserve her modesty. Then she remembered it was her wedding night and wondered if there was much point to that at all. She tied the nightdress - if she could call it that - as tightly as she could, hoping it would cover more of her, before folding her arms awkwardly over her chest. "Oh bats, I am going to flapping murder Ingrid," she muttered.

Bertrand - who had turned away to allow her to change - turned back. There was a moment of silence, in which Mira was sure she saw his eyes bug out of his head at the sight of her. Feeling embarassed, and far too exposed, she scooped up his suit jacket from the sofa, pulling it on and buttoning it closed. It didn't add much in the way of cover - he was broader shouldered than her - but it feel to just above knees, making her more comfortable that way. Oh fog it, Ingrid, why did she have to feel the need to get her something so... ridiculous? Bertrand probably found it offensive. "I'll just sleep in my suit," he said, shuffling awkwardly. Mira cursed silently.

"I could," she looked around the room, "erm," she turned her back on him, allowing him to change. There was a silence, nothing coming from Bertrand's direction allowing Mira to assume that he was changing.

"I..." Bertrand's voice sounded hesistant. "...can't find my pyjamas." He sounded irritated by this fact, and Mira thought.

"Oh, um," she said, "I saw some under the pillows in the coffin," she gestured towards the coffin with one hand.

"Mind if I look?"

"Go ahead," she said. Bertrand bent over the coffin - Mira did her best not to stare - to look for his now missing pjyamas.

"I can't see them," he told her. Mira turned round, going to the other side of the coffin, and bending over, reaching under the pillows to feel. She didn't notice Bertrand swallowing hard, moving slightly so he wasn't directly staring down into the cleveage providing by the skimpy nightdress.

"I'm sure they were right..." she felt around under the pillows, trying to find the fabric she was so sure that under the pillows. Her hands grasped around a neatly folded pile of fabric. "Are," she started pulling out the pile, "these them?" There was a moment before Bertrand turned to her, his hands covering hers as he accepted the pile of fabric. Mira swallowed hard. "I'll just... I'll let you get changed."

Bertrand looked at her. "Mira?"

"Yes?"

He looked at her oddly. "Are... are you scared of me?"

Mira looked shocked. "No!"

Bertrand continued. "Because I'm not," he paused, looking at her with concerned. "You know I'd never try to pull that 'marital rights' rubbish?" There was an anxious tone in his voice, as though he were concerned that she should know.

"I know!" Mira said. "I just..." she sighed. "Oh fog, it's really _not _that I'm scared of you." She assured Bertrand. "Almost... entirely the exact opposite, actually." Bertrand frowned at that, but said nothing further about that.

"Good," he did say, "I'm glad you're not scared." Mira nods, and there was a pause before she remembered herself and turned around yet again, to allow Bertrand to change. There was silence from Bertrand, until, eventually, there was a small: "Fog"

"Bertrand?" Mira half turned back towards her - flapping bats - now husband. "Are you okay?" Betrand was clasping his hands in front of him, trying to look causal. "I think Malik has been entering into the spirit of being Best Man." He explained.

"Oh," Mira said. "Would you like me to punish him?"

"That's... not my immediate concern," Bertrand answered. Mira frowned, turning round fully to look. Bertrand's pjyamas looked especially tight, straining across his chest, and if she glanced down... oh bats.

"Just get it over with," Bertrand was saying. "Go on. Laugh all you want."

Mira didn't hear him. She couldn't stop staring. Quietly, nibbling her bottom lip, "Oh fog, why do you have to be so attractive?" Bertrand stared at her in return.

"Nothing on you."

And then there was silence, as they just stared at each other, each having just realised what it was that the other had said. Mira stepped towards him, placing a hand cautiously on his shoulder. Bertrand just watched, as she leant up, placing a feather light kiss on his mouth. His hands reached round to the small of her back, and as he kissed her back, Mira relaxed. He wasn't rejecting her, this was good. Her other hand came up to his other shoulder, and she pressed a little firmer into the kiss. Bertrand broke away, looking regretful. "Mira...?" She looked down, glad that she couldnn't flush with embarassment.

"I'm sorry, I thought you," wanted me? Might have like more kisses? None of the phrases sounded right. "I'll just... I'll leave." She found her attempt to leave bein stopped, by Bertrand wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close to kiss her again.

"I didn't think you..." he said.

"Oh," she replied, "but I do, I..." she pressed her hands against his shoulders again, leaning up to kiss him again. This time she got a moan out of him in response, something which wwas matched by a moan of her own. There was a hardness pressing against her, and she found herself pressing into it. Bertrand bit down on her lip.

"Sorry-"

She moaned. Bertrand moved back in, trailing kisses down her neck, nearing the bite mark. Shhe could feel him stopping and moving to kiss her shoulder instead. When he spoke, his voice came out in a ragged whisper. "What are we doing?"

Mira's hand was stroking his hair encouragingly, her head tilted back slightly to give him better access. "I don't know," she answered in an equally ragged whisper, "but please don't stop."

Bertrand moved, kissing up her neck to reach her ear. "You're sure?" Mira nodded in return. Bertrand moved in closer, giving a very slow, very dangerous kiss, his tongue carasessing hers. It drove her mad. "Mir?"

"Bertrand?" He suddenly looked bashful, a million miles from the confident kiss of just a secoond ago that Mira wished they could go back to. "Do... would you mind if I took this top off?" He asked. "It's... a little irritating." Mira's eyes widened, and she shook her head. "I can keep it on if you're more comfortable..." Bertrand suggested.

"No!" Mira said. "I mean. No, feel free to take it off." Bertrand gave a smile, moving to try to undo the buttons. They seemed to be too fiddly for his fingers - he had such big hands, she noted - and Mira took pity. "Would," she started, "do ... do you need help?"

Bertrand looked annoyed for a moment, before nodding. "...Please." She reached over and, starting from the bottom of the shirt, started to slowly undo the buttons. There was no way she couldn't not notice the bulge in Bertrand's trousers, but she worried if she said anything it would make him want to stop... whatever this was. She kept moving, slowly. Bertrand closed his eyes. "_What are we doing_."

"I don't," Mira faltered over the buttons, "I don't know but," she paused, looking up at him questioning, "I don't want it to stop." He reached out, his hands skimming lightly down her waist and over her hips. Her skin felt on fire with each touch.

"Me neither."

"Then..." she said slowly, "we don't let it,"

Bertrand gave out a low groan. "Mir..."

Mira looked down at the ground, smiling softly. "I like it when you say my name like that," she admitted, baby bats fluttering in her stomach at the sound of it. Bertrand was still growly when he spoke again.

"Good," he told her. "I have a feeling I'll be saying it again..." Mira shuddered pleasantly, leaning in to continue undoing the buttons. Slowly, surely, she got them all undone and a vast expanse of olive skin became visible to her. She placed a hand nervously on his chest, looking up to see if it was alright. He was looking right down at her and she couldn't help but lean in to kiss him again. "Sorry," Bertrand murmured against her lips, before he was pushing her against the wall, kissing her fiercely.

Mira wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back as fiercely as he was kissing her. One of Bertrand's hands shifts down to run up her leg slightly, pushing his suit jacket up, making an appreciative noise. Mira shifting, grabbing at the fabric of the undone pjyama shirt, trying to pull him closer. Bertrand moved to trail kises down her neck,paying special attention to the bite mark which tingled as Mira tilted her head back to let him have more access, trailing her fingers down his chest. Bertrand pulled his hand back, pausing as it rested higher than he had originally planned. He froze, and Mira reached up and kissed his jawline. Softly, she spoke. "We said we don't stop," she reminded him

So, they didn't.


End file.
